Knowing that inspiration was bound to overcome me on my run, as it often rudely does, I carried a pen and a sheet of paper. The following came over me right after I took my last strides, as I tried to catch my breath.
If I did not use those hands to the letter I write
I would brand your name
to the width of them
for if with palms I did pray
the raised ridges within,
would send your likeness to heaven.
And God would know to whom my devotion does belong
And I would do no wrong in this praise
For it would soothe the malaise for which I am smitten.
esprit to my left
corps to my right
That holy name
For which I could go far, far I might
to the farthest reaches of my imagination.
"Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So, I might live one hour in your sweet bosom." ~ Richard III
the art of love
l.m