Dedicated to R. Browning
We even watched the moon, that moon, sink
as some hearts break. And I,
who loved her more than he
in life could do, demanded
one kiss, just one,
and thought well of it for all I’d done!
With the tears I’d dried, the endless rubbing
of those trembling hands, and
whispering only a ‘there, there, my own sweet dear’
nothing more would ask
from my stenched corner,
though I was made to watch those rounded hips
sway, so lovely
in their way,
as she walked the dusty floors, toes dragging,
and would hear the cries from her soft lips escape,
yet me, unheeded.
How could I listen twice more
to that ‘sweet Lord, mine,’
(by then dead, her Lord, though risen)
and striking her not once,
that thankless whore, but thrice,
as any man would, and must?