I have placed you In the hollow of my hand Little toy-woman, And I gaze at you disdainfully Or throw you lightly aside. .... Or half-shut my eyes, And poetize dreamily About your dainty beauty. .... Or put my mouth Close to yours So that I see only The rose-red of your cheek And feel the soft warmth Of your lips. .... Or whisper half-audibly Of the passion that makes My blood a tide of fire. .... But after all, You are in the hollow of my hand,— I the master, And you the marionette. .... My soul craves A nobler happiness Than passionate kisses And the feel of soft flesh In my fingers. .... Love is a lie. .... Any man-animal Whose lips Are at your throat, Whose hands are eager For your breasts Will drivel with lying tongue About endless love. .... Aristocrats or gum-chewers, They purr, and smirk, and sing-song questioningly, Gaze at each other obliquely, Body to body pressed. .... It is best to live alone, Breathe alone, Dream alone, Alone with one's sacred self, One's reveries, And memories, And heavenly fantasies. .... Here I sit and think: The world of women Will fret me no more; And an hour from now, Or to-morrow, it may be, I will be talking to another Pretty one And every nerve in my body Will exult as though Inebriate with wine. .... Morbleu! What is this Insanity of man's flesh! |