My heart doesn’t let anything go
and neither does yours.
How we remember everything
that happens in between the lines,
Always in thrall to the past.
In the vault of our sky,
halting and becoming just for us.
 
With yeses that aren’t meant,
Yeses with radiant darkness.
We remember what was meant and what was not.
Like a mantra, a hymn for a scattered soul. a moment that happened once.
 
For you are you and I am me,
My luminous excuse of a lover.

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W. B. Yeats Sylvia Plath Lord Byron Anne Sexton Charles Bukowski