Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint
Never let me lose the marvel
of your statue-like eyes or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
I am afraid of being on this shore
a branchless trunk and what I most regret
is having no flower pulp or clay
for the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure
if you are my cross my dampened pain
if I am a dog and you alone my master
never let me lose what I have gained
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.
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