IF your lips dripped nectar,
sweet and cold
in Elysium’s meadow,
if the scorching scorn
of a woman in waiting
left my skin rippled
like plains of a desert,
I’d no more indulge.
Elysium — false
Nectar — a drug
The only indulgence for me
is the love of the Name that would haunt me
when you, sir, proved false.
If your hand crept steady
up my thigh
with alacrity to siphon
all my sighs,
if you wrapped me in bangles
and dipped me in diamonds
and painted me silver,
I’d no more indulge.
Elysium — false
Nectar — a drug
The only indulgence for me
is the love of the Name that would haunt me
when you, sir, proved false.
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