Classic Poem

He is a bad sleeper and it is a joy to me
To feel him well when he is the proud prey
And the strong neighbour of the best of sleep
Without false covers—no need—and without awakenings.
So near, so near to me that I believe he enflames me
In some way, with his overwhelming desire, that I feel
In my ravished and trembling body.
If we find ourselves face to face, and if he turns
Close to my side, as lovers are wont to do,
His haunches, deliriously dreamy or not,
Sudden, mutinous, malicious, stubborn, whorish,
In the name-of-God, his cravings, so gentle, will pierce my flesh,
And leave me girdled like a eunuch,
Or if I should turn to him with the wish
To soothe him; or, if peacefully we lie, his quietness,
Brutal and gentle, will suffuse my body in his;
And my spirit, out of happiness, will submerge and overwhelm him,
And prostrate him, infinite in that tack.
Am I happy? Totus in benigno positus!