Across the room, a speechifying man
Digresses, bibulous and red and fat
And blooming loud. I pinch my glass; I can
Feel nothing but my trembling knee, since that

Is where your hand is resting. You transmit
Intolerable heat. The wine is warm
And I am growing volatile; I sit
As one expecting fire, or a swarm

A plague of fevered locusts to consume
The whole damned company, and leave us two
alone. And I am furious – the room
is full of nonsense noise – I would subdue

Myself with wine, but I am drunk; the stain
Comes tearing through the tablecloth like flame.