Don’t cry. Don’t tense your swollen lips,

Don’t pack them into creases.

You’ll irritate those dried up bits

Of scabs from vernal fevers.

Withdraw you hand, don’t touch my chest,

We’re cables under voltage.

To one another, by some chance

We may be thrown by fortune.

The years will pass and you shall wed,

You will forget this love then.

To be a woman,—a great step.

To drive insane,—a talent.

Under the spell of female hands,

The spell of shoulders, backs, and necks,

As you can see, I’ve lost my sense,

Bewitched by their divine effects.

No matter how the night might bind,—

Its dismal ring just cannot match

The force to leave it all behind

And passion tempts me to detach.