You will not read these crimson lines, their secret will not know.
The dusk of my descent occluded from the orbit of your eyes…
So I, to ether’s mocking vastness, will this confession throw
And let it float – a solitary cry – until its echo dies.
Without you my footsteps falter. Your absence stillness broods.
Too far to greet, too close for comfort… My distance always kept in fear
That this, a slavish quest, may yield to your capricious moods
And if you asked for me to stay, I would not know how to keep clear.
So do not speak. If fate would have it that you should find me out,
Pretend that you’ve forgotten all and gift me this: your doubt.