Tuesday, April 17, 2007

#359: April 17, 2007

Forgive me, love, for what is it infects
my sometime thoughts; for when I draw away
to force you come to me; for when I lay
apart, seething your sleep; where intersects
desire and almost-hate--what can it be
that drives me punish she who keeps me safe,
who shields me as from hot machinegun strafe
with just her naked flesh? Love, forgive me.

What's unlovely in me should not intrude,
but does--and nothing in me can explain
how, when you lie against me, warm and nude,
down in the very joining-place of you
and me, how any meanness could remain
so untransformed--I know not, what I do.

No comments: