Classic Poem

If some boy were to come to me by night
And say, " I am chased. I was your lover. Let me in."
And I, opening the door of a rented room,
Were to see him drunk, staggering, confusion in his hair,
With the perfection of the hunted animal.
And if I were to take him in — let's say from pity —
Strip him layer by layer, bathe him, spoon him, he
Falling gray and neutral on the clean linen and pillows.
And in bed he, who had bled, had plumbed me
Were to go soft and afraid and weep for a mother,
And I were to spend myself in his torn body
As morning gritted on his eyes.