Clouds Without Water

I] You stand away — to let your Jong lash curl About this aching body, fiery rings Of torture, o my hot enamoured girl Whose passion rides me like a steed and stings. Like to a wounded snake infuriated With pain, you drive your reeking kisses home Into my flesh, their poisonous frenzy mated With this delirious anguish, bitter foam Of storm on some innavigable sea. Whip, whip me till I burn! Whip on! Whip on ! Is it not madness that you wake in me? Is not this curse the devil’s orison? Ah, devil! devil! when you grip me and glare Into mine eyes, and answer all the prayer! Il A virgin with the lusts of Messaline, A goat-soul in the body of a saint, You writhe on me with cruel and epicene Phrenzy and agony of acute restraint. You ache — you burn — you dizzy me with blows — You call me coward and eunuch, who say No. Volcanic child ! upon your masking snows I will not raise my rod, that forth may flow Torrents of blazing lava, that shall hiss And roar, and ruin all the glad green world. I like the attack of your seducing kiss, The lashes of your love about me curled, Better than slack delight and murmuring sigh — Flowers by the road to sad satiety.