Desire and <br />All the sweet pulsing aches <br />And gentle hurtings <br />That were you, <br />Are gone into the sullen dark. <br />Now in the night you come unsmiling <br />To lie with me <br />A dull, cold, rigid bayonet <br />On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul.<br /><br />Ernest Hemingway<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/killed-paive-july-8-1918/
