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HER tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness, | |
Hardened they are like gems in ancient modesty; | |
Yea, and her mouths prudent and crude caress | |
Means even less than her many words to me. | |
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Though her kiss betrays me also this, this only | 5 |
Consolation, that in her lips her blood at climax clips | |
Two wild, dumb paws in anguish on the lonely | |
Fruit of my heart, ere down, rebuked, it slips. | |
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I know from her hardened lips that still her heart is | |
Hungry for me, yet if I put my hand in her breast | 10 |
She puts me away, like a saleswoman whose mart is | |
Endangered by the pilferer on his quest. | |
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But her hands are still the woman, the large, strong hands | |
Heavier than mine, yet like leverets caught in steel | |
When I hold them; my still soul understands | 15 |
Their dumb confession of what her sort must feel. | |
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For never her hands come nigh me but they lift | |
Like heavy birds from the morning stubble, to settle | |
Upon me like sleeping birds, like birds that shift | |
Uneasily in their sleep, disturbing my mettle. | 20 |
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How caressingly she lays her hand on my knee, | |
How strangely she tries to disown it, as it sinks | |
In my flesh and bone and forages into me, | |
How it stirs like a subtle stoat, whatever she thinks! | |
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And often I see her clench her fingers tight | 25 |
And thrust her fists suppressed in the folds of her skirt; | |
And sometimes, how she grasps her arms with her bright | |
Big hands, as if surely her arms did hurt. | |
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And I have seen her stand all unaware | |
Pressing her spread hands over her breasts, as she | 30 |
Would crush their mounds on her heart, to kill in there | |
The pain that is her simple ache for me. | |
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Her strong hands take my part, the part of a man | |
To her; she crushes them into her bosom deep | |
Where I should lie, and with her own strong span | 35 |
Closes her arms, that should fold me in sleep. | |
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Ah, and she puts her hands upon the wall, | |
Presses them there, and kisses her bright hands, | |
Then lets her black hair loose, the darkness fall | |
About her from her maiden-folded bands. | 40 |
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And sits in her own dark night of her bitter hair | |
DreamingGod knows of what, for to me shes the same | |
Betrothed young lady who loves me, and takes care | |
Of her womanly virtue and of my good name. | |
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