And still I dare to love
the sound of the light in the hours of deadness
the color of time on a ruined wall.
In my eyes I’ve lost everything.
Asking is so far away. And so close, this knowledge of want.
—Alejandra Pizarnik, “A Beggar Voice" (translated by Yvette Siegert)
Poetry leads to the same place as all forms of eroticism — to the blending and fusion of separate objects. It leads us to eternity, it leads us to death, and through death to continuity. Poetry is eternity; the sun matched with the sea.
Georges Bataille, Death and Sensuality (via ontheedgeofdarkness)