“ Who could have foretoldthe heart grows oldfrom touching others ”
And I'll dance with you in Vienna,I'll be wearing a river's disguise.The hyacinth wild on my shouldermy mouth on the dew of your thighs.And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,with the photographs there and the moss.And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,my cheap violin and my cross.
~ Leonard Cohen
... i didn't fall in love of courseit's never up to youbut she was walking back and forthand i was passing through
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
It was a dance of masks and every mask was perfect because every mask was a real face and every face was areal mask so there was no mask and there was no face for there was but one dance in which there was butone mask but one true face which was the same and which was a thing without a name which changed andchanged into itself over and over.
