ASHES OF DESIRE
How soft this couch of thine! Beneath my tingling nudity, its glowing silken covers scarcely seem to bear me up . . . Let me lie so awhile, laved in the utter silence of the flesh.
Spread out hair like waves about my head . . . A moistened tendril clings to my weary lips. Draw it away for me, so that I need not stir even a finger to complete my peace.
How fair these moments—and how dearly bought! . . . Alas! . . . Yet be not hurt because I call them dearly bought. Thou art a man—thou couldst not understand. Nor couldst thou know I love thee more for them than for all other things . . .
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