Friendship, a curious Persian myth,
And Love, blank emptiness,
Bearing no significance
Nor any reality.

Only Weariness is yours:
I would make you love me
That you might possess
Desire.

III

Is my love
Of flesh or spirit?
I only know to me
Your eyes are wholly you.

Our glances dart
Like the flash of a bird
Gone, before the colour of his wing
Is seen.

I have not bathed my soul
In your eyes,
My soul would drown.

IV

I have starved to know your lips
Yet my soul