The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends: some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no use for. The big wave brought you. Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly beautiful. [...] I want your hidden look, your real smile - - that lonely, mocking smile your cool mirror knows.

two english poems, jlb.