I have a human lover, and she is
unlike you cool and gorgeous gods in this:
her body is inflammable.
She burns like Semele for me. The thrill
of catching like a candle-wick enthralls
my lover, so her twisting body leaps
and trembles like a dying moth, then falls
into my hands again. My lover sleeps.
I think, How wonderful that she will die!
I hope she will allow me to observe
her when she first forgets a name, or why
she ever left the house, the trembling curve
her knobbed old hands will draw in empty air --
and she will fade before she can despair.