After I've made it stumbling through the day
And liquid light surrounds the windowsill,
After paper buds have furled their wrinkled way
And, tired, I've relaxed my will,
I think of you and of your warm embrace
And recall the disturbed calmness of your face
In repose. And all the sorrow I've contained
This brilliant Tuesday in this lonely place
Vanishes. It topples down the hours strained
Till memory leaves another trace:
The time you smiled and covered me with kisses
And clicked your teeth to mine in a brisk toast
And I think, at least I have that clinking ghost.
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