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I could not help thinking of this: Epidermal Macabre Indelicate is he who loathes The aspect of his fleshy clothes, - The flying fabric stitched on bone, The vesture of the skeleton, The garment neither fur nor hair, The cloak of evil and despair, The veil long violated by Caresses of the hand and eye. Yet such is my unseemliness: I hate my epidermal dress, The savage blood's obscenity, The rags of my anatomy, And willingly would I dispense With false accouterments of sense, To sleep immodestly, a most Incarnadine and carnal ghost. Create Date: Friday, January 03,2003 Theodore Roethke Share |

Secong stanza breathtaking...

Great poem. When you love someone You you do and give anything. Great poem.