erotic poem

the arches of the red bridge
if i should die, think only this of me
she burst fierce wine
stuff of the moon
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
the agony of having too much power
i have heard that a certain princess
still thirteen years
i went up and down the streets
there's one that i once loved so much
city that is not a city
at dawn, he said
why are the things that have no death
this is the arsenal