A useless, forlorn existence is mine.
To cope and survive, I live in my safe bubble
by opium, hashish, bourbon, tobacco, coffee
coloured brown: chocolate too.
to sweeten the bitter aftertaste of sorrow.
But bubbles do burst. And then
the greyness of these streets
and of the city sky
become one.
Red as blood, red as passion,
these double-decker buses, fire brigade trucks,
telephone booths and mail boxes
familiarly stand out amid the bleakness
that so annoys me.
The dirty-greenish, murky Thames
is a veritable Styx:
Ennui its sombre Charon.
This human urban wasteland's citizens are shades:
dreary, drained, black;
and life is mourning.

Yet Heaven does exist and I have seen it
it is your eyes of pale azure,
the charming fairness of your skin,
the effortlessly graceful way you move,
the sweetness of the melody of your voice,
the soft rose of your lips,
the modesty of your ways,
the supple, sensual beauty of your body,
the warmth of your embraces,
the faithfulness of your kisses,
the innocence of your fears and doubts,
the golden reflections of the setting sun
shining through your scented hair:
the resplendent radiance of your soul,
the immortal promise of your love.