Morning After
Open the window, let the cold air blow through the rooms,
Clear out the talk that hung in the smoke of the cigarettes,
All that remains of the night, the warm glances, the fumes
Of furtive possession, the intimate touch, and the cloying regrets.
They were scattered and dropped with the ashes swept to the hearth,
The crackling laughter broke and spilled with the wine,
The vague hungry passions were empty when run to the earth
By the hounds of the music, following close with a rhythmical whine.
I have washed my hands long in cold water and bathed my face,
And flung the evening away like a soiled and tattered gown.
I do not ask to stand always untouched in this place,
But never to burn with false flame, nor in such dark shallow eddies to drown.
Clear out the talk that hung in the smoke of the cigarettes,
All that remains of the night, the warm glances, the fumes
Of furtive possession, the intimate touch, and the cloying regrets.
They were scattered and dropped with the ashes swept to the hearth,
The crackling laughter broke and spilled with the wine,
The vague hungry passions were empty when run to the earth
By the hounds of the music, following close with a rhythmical whine.
I have washed my hands long in cold water and bathed my face,
And flung the evening away like a soiled and tattered gown.
I do not ask to stand always untouched in this place,
But never to burn with false flame, nor in such dark shallow eddies to drown.
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