So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.

Twas not my lips you kissed
But my soul

What was our parting ?—one wild kiss,
How wild I may not say,
One long and breathless clasp, and then
As life were past away.

If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose

All, wherein I have part, All that was loss or gain, Slips from the clasping heart, Breaks from the grasping brain. <p> Lo, what is left? I am bare As a new-born soul, — I am naught: My deeds are dust in air, My words are ghosts of thought. I ride through the night alone, Detached from the life that seemed, And the best I have felt or known Is less than the least I dreamed.

There is no other action at those heights; What the questing soul once was it has ceased to be. Neither heat nor fiery love Nor suffering has place here. This is not light as the soul has imagined it. All it had sought it must now forget, And pass on to a new world, Beyond its powers of perception.

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae farewell, alas, forever!

I weep those dead lips, white and dry, </br> On which no kisses lie, </br> Those eyes deserted of desire, </br> And love’s soft fire. I weep the folded feet and hands, </br> Held fast in linen bands; </br> Still heart, cold breasts—for them my dole: </br> God hath the soul.

But what was there to say?

Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat. Only that a hard honey-colored shoulder had a semicircle of teethmarks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief.

Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.

For only the body would die, whereas the loss of a soul is a great loss which is apparently without end;

Here there was only yourself; a soul buried alive. Nothing to comfort you but your own life. Screaming from the pain of the blows which battered him down might have stopped, but the internal scream of self-loathing could never cease.

But I wondered if all this kissing was a bad habit with him and me. The thing we did with our mouths instead of talking.

She was hardly conscious of her agonised cry as his hard kisses ravaged her mouth. For her it was like a dissolution of body and bones; with only a heart left; a pulsing heart awash in an ocean of rushing tornadic darkness; helpless at its own forward rushing...

union. Beauty could not comfort if the soul were out of it.