  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. |
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