"What's wrong, the throngs of songbirds
-in your voice- are silenced by complaisance.
"What of your choice to rejoice in the noise of
"Your lips that were perpetually whet with
lie dried on your face.
Yet, you deny your thirst.
"Your hips that where the tempo to every dance
are as still as your vacant eyes - entranced.
Void of romance.
"The yearning that once burned bright
right out your eyes has dimed
to a cinder.
"This sordid winter has turned you
Did you even notice?
Your every passion hangs placidly flaccid.
"I am impatient. And your penchant for lament
has sent me away."