But cleft in twain my heart still yearns for thee;
I yearn to see the magic of thy smile;
I long to hear and see the dreams which we
Have always manifested; all the while

Denying to our other worlds the fact
That this discreet perfection had a name.
It lived, in every thought and deed and act
Which in our lives the other would proclaim.

It cannot be enough to kiss and hold;
For it is thee with whom I am in love.
I love not even life as much as thee.

I only dream of when I may behold
My sweet companion–whom I hold above
All earthly deeds–this sister who loves me.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Can aught unite this nature’s pain and grace?
Can any magic unify these twain?
I wish to see the ending of this pain
Which lives eternal on thine ivory face.

Shall magic oversee to interlace
These two divergent themes which so profane
This wonderful ideal of our demesne
To depths of most unbearable disgrace.

My sister, will it ever be that I
Will have thee someday for my very own?
Or is this fantasy to justify
This perfect world which we have overthrown.

What kind of fools were we who ran away
From that which still we hope to have someday?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

In moments, lived we our own genesis.
In dreams we wake into our own domain.
It is as though our burden to abstain
From one another no abstention is.

And though it may be years between each kiss,
Each kiss is thus more perfect porcelain,
Pristine in all its power to sustain
Me and propel me further into bliss.

It is as though mere seconds passed between
These honey-sweet perfections that we share.
For after each, my passion, love, and mien
Are stronger still and are more deep and rare.

If ever God had made a thing so fine;
It must be thee, this perfect love of mine.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: