Loss
This is not hell—
At least merely a comfortable hell
With warmth and food and some still moments
Ere the true hell comes rushing in again,
Yet this one thought is torture:
Have I lost her, lost her indeed?
Lost the calm eyes and eager lips of love,
The two-fold amorous breasts and braided hair,
The white slim body my senses fed upon
And all the secret shadows shot with fire?
At least merely a comfortable hell
With warmth and food and some still moments
Ere the true hell comes rushing in again,
Yet this one thought is torture:
Have I lost her, lost her indeed?
Lost the calm eyes and eager lips of love,
The two-fold amorous breasts and braided hair,
The white slim body my senses fed upon
And all the secret shadows shot with fire?
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