My mind enters into all things,
But cries out for knowledge of you.
My will bends the world to love,
But cannot my heart renew.
The whispered promise of boyhood –
Silenced by consequence.
The fevered clutch of eager youth –
Aborted by elder conscience.
Every mote of you I would exalt,
And thoughts place in your service,
But your sisters’ pleas loudly ring,
And make your imagining nervous.
My inmost coil is warped by pain,
That no caress can mend.
My struggles worn upon my face:
I yield to beautiful men.
The nail I have to surrender
Would wound more than arouse,
And kisses that lips brought
The fire of truth would douse.
I would, if I were able,
Rendered upon my own table,
I cannot gather those parts
Lest they gather into your heart.