You smiled—at how ridiculous I was
when I was intent on love.
After I climaxed, I saw it, too.
And this defeated you.
No wonder the truly beautiful
wear their stiff brocade.
No wonder they are beautiful
forever who say “never,”
trite and normal, formal and bright,
within the stationary shade!
You did not say, no.
You chose the risk—which became woe.
I entered the desert. Delimiting
darkness removed my pride.
Happy recluse,
I write poetry. I hide;
comedy, tragedy, to me—now—
are only a matter of style.
Surrounded by words, my perfect friends:
They tell me and I feel that I’m revenged.
And now you do not smile.