After our fierce loving in the brief time we found to be together, you lay in the half light exhausted, rich, with your face turned sideways on the pillow, and I traced the exquisite line of your profile, dark against the white, delicate and lovely as a child's.
Perhaps you will cease to love me, or we may be consumed in the holocaust, but I keep, against the ice and fire, the memory of your profile on the pillow.
