Would that a man be less of the stars, than light
For mine eyes are not blind to the beauty
    of darkness.
Darkness, sickly sweet
    With skin like the sea
    and Eyes like yellow wine; would that I dance
of your touch
Blank stare into internal skies
Skies of hope and prosperity,
that they should clash in a glitter of despair
And to be lost? With smoke and dreams,
so do I vanish.