Heartless Heart
again he remembers, just like tonight,
he dreamt long ago about lying awake
beside her beneath the bronze blanket
of a lightning-scorched, stormy night;
the memory, a bent optical illusion now,
like that of a straight reed seen in water,
shows a distorted image of that dream
where it seemed he froze deep inside,
dumbstruck, not so much by the wrath
of the tempest gone berserk outside
as by the quiet guilt now gnawing away
at this one ungrateful, heartless heart;
but, the teasing touch of her drowsy hand,
warm upon his chin, explains everything
reassuringly, so he drifts back to sleep
unafraid of waking up to dream again.
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