The Lovely and Merciless One

In other arms I found content. In yours
Only an infinite torment and unrest.
Always the chill surrender of your breast
Spurned me to madder quests, remoter lures.
Always I bore upon my soul the scars
Seared by the terrible magic of your kiss.
You were Circe … Helen … Semiramis,
Potent, austere, indifferent as the stars.

These bread-and-butter passions, cinnamon-sweet,
Have stayed my hunger for a little space.
Why must I blunder on reluctant feet
Back to the dead-sea fruit of your embrace?
Why must I nurse a marsh-fire in my grate,
And war with love more desolate than hate?
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