SEE, with my will I curb my importunate hands That know their way to find you, coolly touching The curve of your head with restrained and reverent fingers, Giving you peace... I curb my intemperate hands That have learned too well the power of forgetfulness Given you at their touch. They are empty now— Powerless—hard—there is no magic in them. They are tense and white with restraint. My desperate will Forces submission—holds their desire inert... |