Oh, my dear, throw the veil away;
Come strike my lips.
Bring all those scalding rays
And seduce me with those flips.
I waited for you passionately—
In those widow dawns.
Your fickle steps deteriorate, meagerly:
“My dear, won’t you run?”
I lost every precious me,
In search of you.
I am changed now, you see
But I am not new.
The night whistles in the rage,
And rolls to the porch.
We pretend to be the powerful sage
Filled with the wisdom of torch.