(12) THE SENSUALISTS

 

(a) “There is no place to turn,” she said, “You have me pinned so close; My hair is all tangled on your head, My back is just one bruise; I feel we’re breathing with the dead; O angel, let me loose!”

(b) And she was right, for there beside The gin and cigarettes, A woman stood, bare as a bride, Affrighted from her wits, And breathing hard, as that man rode Between those lovely tits.

(c) “My shoulder’s bitten from your teeth; What is that peculiar smell? No matter which one is beneath, Each is an animal,” — The ghostly figure sucked its breath, And shuddered toward the wall; Wrapped in the tattered robe of death, It tiptoed down the hall.

(d) “The bed itself begins to quake, I hate this sensual pen; My neck, if not my heart, will break If we do this again,” — Then each fell back, limp as a sack, Into the world of men.

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