I've disciplined my loving with a scourge Of willow words cut lately. They suffice. And if my feverish hands need checking twice, With false satiety my wrists I merge. With fair assurance I'm convinced that Life And Loneliness are lovers. They alone Inseparable as counterpoint, intone With human loves but anguished notes in strife. More than by body have I sought to be More ravished by the fecund lustiness, The wild and secret contours of your mind. And yet the lyric sight of you to me Bears potent freight which strips me fetterless And to this logic leaves me wholly blind. |