Classic Poem

S PECTRA

If I were only dafter
— — I might be making hymns
To the liquor of your laughter
— — And the lacquer of your limbs.

But you turn across the table
— — A telescope of eyes,
And it lights a Russian sable
— — Running circles in the skies . . .

Till I go running after,
— — Obeying all your whims —
For the liquor of your laughter
— — And the lacquer of your limbs.