Lunacy’s lucidity’s short, but inconsolable,
Affiance commences peacefully and long lives.
Thenceforth, I desiccate of thy return chalice.
Cause old manuscripts are saved, but charred,
Not burnt, but under th’ closet collecting dust,
Mayhap bein’ a map for looking back, but not a new path.
Love vehemence perjures on th’ session of harmony.
Now thy Judah claws skirts of thy glance,
But our Last Supper won’t stand by recreant manifest,
Memory’s an unsent letter left in Wuthering Heights.
