Conversations With the Moon.

Sometimes I want to suckle at your white breast And drink your milk of delicious tenderness While lips to lips embraced we tremble in the wind Desire is nothing to be lost, love is all to win. Sometimes I want to put my head against the fold Of your bosom and the blanket of your dress Sheltering you from the rugged night's sultry cold That stare at my flaccid hope of nakedness. Sometimes when my soul ravaged by its memories Fragrance of your body blows from afar Through tender vines of tawny turbulent histories You cannot know my pulsar and my star While you wile and wander around the wanton earth In frivolous mirth. I did not want the dry Bed of oceans for ships of dreams to sail. A desert Heart cries too without the rain. Hence the sigh When I thought how mythical is all beauty, all truth, The Castor and Pollux of ramantic vision! For there was no other man on your breast, but refute Came late, dear moon, after the Apollo mission.