(After Andre Frenaud)
Without face or name, of water's colour,
Her eyes gone and the cheek's pallor.
Now that time's called the party off
And my desires no more accost
On stairs your shifty shiftless ghost,
I live on these poor pence of love,
Stripped and free of you at last,
A deadman with his private life
And joys he shares with rock and leaf
Now all our lovers' gains are lost.
Between the gentle breasts I slip
Of unloved women there to find
I lie down still upon your absence
And it's a living corpse I clip
Made so by you who are ordained
To blast me even in my silence.