STIGMATA OF LOVE

I'm swallowed by this light, by this fire,
By this grey landscape that's my crime,
By the endless pain of one idea,
By this anguish that's heaven, earth and time,

By the drip drip drip of blood's lament
Across rhythmless strings, thus kindling a flame,
By the maelstrom sea in its torment,
By the scorpion that is my heart's game;

These my garland of love, on which I lie wounded,
And where without dreams, I dream of your presence
Plumbing the depths that my lone heart has sounded.

And though I might crave the summits of prudence
In the vale of your passion such thoughts are dumbfounded
Laid low by hemlock and a lust that's dark science.