The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old

Thoth, Hermes, The Stylus, The Palette, The Pen, The Quill Endure, Though Our Books Are A Floor Of Smouldering Ash Under Our Feet.

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.

There Is No Man Can Take, There Is No Pool Can Slake, Ultimately I Am Alone; Ultimately I Am Done.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

When You Would Think, "what Was The Use Of It," You'll Remember Something You Can't Grasp And You'll Wonder What It Was.