Your hands cling softly, like a cat, Whose loving little paws will pat The loving hands caressing her; And like the velvet warmth of fur Your soft and glowing palms compress Desire into their daintiness. Hold me, enfold me, let me rain Roses of kisses on my chain; The throbbing of your finger-tips Is rarer to me than your lips, And your slow purple pulse that beats Against my mouth in heavier heats, Dearer, almost, than the unrest Of your dear, hesitating breast, That calls me, and denies me part In the suspensions of your heart. |