The Black Bird

Beads of cold sweat surfaced on my skin Here and there coalescing in tiny streams Throes of passions; the source of human sin Regrets the envy of my thought, but not it seems. Now comes the low murmur of the lazy surf Along the marrow the passage, the acquainted place This illegitimate struggle, this timeless sleepy curse Disguises the throes of this serried power, I pant in disgrace Surrendering to this pulsing watchful eye As the lean, dark-eyed man wipes his fingers wet I am the black bird, infatuated,as the clouds go by In the taunting-pate coughs, I’m beset. Constrained by this liquid fire, my body set aflame Enchanting are my withdrawing moans, in vain While yet I play this torrid mocking game Believing the black bird will relieve my pain.