What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, 
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain 
Under my head till morning; but the rain 
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh 
Upon the glass and listen for reply, 
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain 
For unremembered lads that not again 
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. 
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, 
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, 
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: 
I cannot say what loves have come and gone, 
I only know that summer sang in me 
A little while, that in me sings no more.

{What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why}
{Sonnet XLIII}	 
{Edna St. Vincent Millay}

Tell me how you've been,
Tell what you've seen,
Tell me that you'd like to see me too.

'cause my heart is full of no blood,
My cup is full of no love,
Couldn't take another sip even if I wanted.

But it's not too late,
Not too late for love.

My lungs are out of air,
Yours are holding smoke,
And it's been like that for so long.

I've seen people try to change,
And I know it isn't easy,
But nothin' worth the time ever is.

And it's not too late,
It's not too late for love,
For love,
For love,
For love. 

{ not to late - norah jones }

a visionary artist