✍🏻 Remorse

it’s really relentless

Remorse -- red-eyed
Bloodied knuckles & a cowardly lover’s letter, expressing his departing…

  Red-eyed and deadened heart
  endless regret and emptiness
  my time with you was divinity defined
  oh for the past: our perfect partnership
  resting on one another after amore
  searching each other’s open books
  everything was to look forward to


I'm sorry
I’m so deeply sorry
I'm so deeply sorry
I’m so truly sorry
I'm so truly sorry
I’m so sincerely sorry
I'm so sincerely sorry
I’m so totally and wholeheartedly sorry
I'm so totally and wholeheartedly  sorry
I regret my stupidity.
I regret my stupidity.
I’m more sorry than ever before.

✍🏻 I miss you

way, ‘way’ beyond belief

Revenge
bloodied knuckles & a cowardly lover’s letter, expressing his departing…

Limitless Infinity

   6 I look but I don’t see
  I hear but don’t listen

  I’ve never felt these deprivations
  I have never known such emotions

  I touch but I don’t feel
  I eat but it’s tasteless

  I’m literally not functioning
  I am but a dead human walking

  I breathe scentless flowers
  I yearn to sense your soul

  I’d give everything to be with you
  I would do anything to be yours 9

^∞


Sonnet LXXIII

The remains of the day…

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth steal away,
Death’s second self, which seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

— William Shakespeare
     English poet

73--01
“Listen to me!” (W&T)

The juice of ((it)) on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league

^ ((it)) being a magical flower,’Cupid’s Flower,’ referenced in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Usage of such a potion is not my style; they need to actually want me, forced love is fucking false love. And the ‘make or man or woman’ bit is odd ain’t it, but that is what was wrote (supposedly so).

73--03
Fantasy – “You’re dreaming darlin'”

In this regard, the context of fairytale, see: Charles Perrault


As lonely as a fucking one-trick pony; yeah this is me now, this has been me since my well deserved abandonment; I did not show the appreciation that I should have; I didn’t know how to show true love to my priceless Gulf pearl…

73--04
I’ll hold my tongue

The Cloths of Heaven

from Yeats by way of me 2 U

Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats

A while ago I profiled Yeats and gave a few lines of the poem above, I think that reading it as a whole is very much more moving (; profound etc.)… ^

&, here’s another. This is not about love though. For me, it’s somehow about being (stuck) on the shoulders of giants which is, I’d say, a mixed blessing; a double-edged sword (good for scientific advancement but an impediment to artistic originality — deference… ‘gratitude’… reverence… dependency… &c.):

Gratitude to the Unknown Instructors

What they undertook to do
They brought to pass;
All things hang like a drop of dew
Upon a blade of grass.

W. B. Yeats


XX. JUST ANOTHER NUMBER

  Tied to an Oak and Ghaf rack I abear,
  whenever weren’t love a thing to revere?
  It’s the heart of every sordid affair;
  was mine dashed by the whim of an Emir?

  We’d heaven ’til reality’s ensnare,
  there’s no fate worse than this heartfelt despair.
  Lost love lacerates, I hereby declare;
  you’re the sand’s one jewel, this I’ll not forswear.

  Stretched to the edge of reason I clamour,
  my heart begs you to hear its enamour.
  My words aren’t read yet I shall enedevour,
  for with lost love I’ve just them and velour.

  Damn these feeble rhyming lines, I’m too blue;
  I dream of your neck and love-biting you.


p.s.

mixed blessing
a thing that has disadvantages as well as advantages. — “Declaring the word love so late in their relationship was, with the benefit of objective and dispassionate hindsight, very much a mixed blessing…”


a double-edged sword
a situation or course of action having both positive and negative effects. — “Talking candidly about their darker thoughts was a double-edged sword in, oh so many bittersweet goddamned ways.”

✍🏻 I am so very sorry 😐

for the way I behaved with you

  More than words can express
   More than ever ever before
  —
   I so sincerely apologise
   I do so regret my wrongs
  —
   To think that our past times are now dark in your mind cuts me into 1,001 pieces
  —
   Heaven became Hell
   Paradise turned to Purgatory
   Luscious Light > Moonless Night.


The Silken Tent

— Robert Frost (1874–1963)

She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To every thing on earth the compass round,
And only by one’s going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.

End notes
1.
‘slightly taut’ 😉 . . . & den sum mor

2.
From tent to lament:

Tent life
The stars at night.
We are all [more or less] in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. (There’s only one guiding star for me, dear J). We can only guess at which star/s Mr Wilde was gazing up at.
Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995, by Tracey Emin (1995)
Nylon tent (electric blue)
Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995, by Tracey Emin (1995)
The Carnal Prayer Mat, by Li Yu (1693)
Happy campers of yesteryear used ground mats
The Carnal Prayer Mat, a work of fiction by Li Yu (1693) is regularly censored and at times outright forbidden reading; literary critics see its unabashed pornographic nature as an allegoric attack on Confucian puritanism. The prologue states that, ‘sex is healthy when taken as if it were a drug, but not as if it were ordinary food.’
My Bed, by Tracey Emin (1998)
Today’s campers mostly use blowup beds, e.g., ‘The British bed-HEAD.’
My Bed, by Tracey Emin (1998)
Sketch by Tracey Emin (dunno when)
Here’s me bloody hoping
Sketch by Tracey Emin (dunno when)
Tracey Emin and friend (dunno when)
Tracey Emin and friend (dunno when)
Tracey Emin (dunno when)
Tracey Emin (dunno when)
Primavera, by Sandro Botticelli (c. 1479)
Youth’s so ephemeral
Primavera*, by Sandro Botticelli (c. 1479)
*Primavera = Spring