I'm talking to Alex - just missed Kadin online, apparently... gah. Timing. I'm really worried about my boy... he's missing the pain that he had here as much right now as, if not more than, the love and kindness.

I'm going to steal a snatch of Alex-conversation, a fragment of poetry he quoted... Algernon Charles Swinburne's the author in question.

This... it's like quicksand. It should, perhaps, be insult or warning... but instead it's beautiful. He knows what I like. *grins*

Alex says:

There are sins it may be to discover,

There are deeds it may be to delight.

What new work wilt thou find for thy lover,

What new passions for daytime or night?

What spells that they know not a word of

Whose lives are as leaves overblown?

What tortures undreamt of, unheard of,

Unwritten, unknown?

Alex says:

Love listens, and paler than ashes,

Through his curls as the crown on them slips,

Lifts languid wet eyelids and lashes,

And laughs with insatiable lips.

Thou shalt hush him with heavy caresses,

With music that scares the profane;

Thou shalt darken his eyes with thy tresses,

Our Lady of Pain