4: James P Mannion

Silk
You, whose eyes so often
Surprised me, whose
Touch always softened
My darkest moods;

You are no more,
And I, as they say,
Am less.

No has been said a cure
For addicts, whose
Contention, grossly immature,
Cannot resist the bruise.

But no more now,
No less, and not no,
As they say, but yes;

For I have seen the mights
Of your eyes, the silk
Of your sheets, the lights
That disguise your ilk,
                                                                                
And so it seems
That I, as they say,
Am yours, and no more
In between.