razbliuto

you are
a false lacrimosa, flawed, impermanent, graceless,
Dulcinea, Beata Beatrix,
a thousand names bequeathed and taken back
you do not remind me of Babylon
you are not my lady fair, lady-love,
your flower and your garden alike are as white and bone-dry as death
and you are no fine wine from Sicily,
the only girl I ever loved, love, will love,
pensively, dreadfully, painfully undrunkenly,
is you.