every portrait that is
painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter
there’s too much
of myself in it
(1890) i have never
loved a woman
i worshipped you
too much. i am punished for it
he felt as if his blood
had turned from fire to sluggish ice
i was dominated
soul brain and power by you
he is absolutely
necessary to me
but surely if one lives merely for ones self, harry,
one pays a terrible price for doing so
love is a more
wonderful thing that art
i want
the dorian i used to paint