STEEL-COLD without; sheer icicles of air
That hang down perpendicular with blades,
Chimeric poniards, vitrine points of ice
To freeze the spirituous tissues numb.
But in this throbbing, warmly-bosomed room
I sit and drink the fumes of glowing coals,
Allow my limbs to spread in languid ease,
Relaxing as a selfish, pensive cat,
Absorbing warmth into my seething pores
And drowning in a mass of phantom breasts....
The kettle bubbles humanly and croons
A far-off, distance-faded lullaby,
And I forget those frozen stalactites,
Those gushing waterfalls of winter wind,
That sap the brain and turn the blood to snow
Until I suck my breath in sudden gasps.
Within, the heat is curdling into flesh,
Vague, supple limbs to weave a night of lust
And throats lain back to kiss at my desire
White, soft and curving, I may nibble then
Such mad caresses as will flay my lips.
Those tender tendrils curling on the nape
Are coils of anaconda for my hands
To twine in subtly inspissated shapes
To my own delectation; and those eyes
Resign like perfumed stars to my caress.