On the occasion of a friend's departure from Vienna. August fifth 57/
The sexual and the spiritual
Tonight was I betrayed
by the sexual.
Somerset Maugham wrote a story
about my grief,
But he over-rated it.
The chauffeur shocked the diplomat
when seen playing
Naked with his employer
along the beach
Because the diplomat, you see,
first loved her.
I came second and far too late
to my Greek.
Fate sat down and cried
in my flesh
Because my Helen had too soon
launched her ship,
And when she sat on my lap it was
but one night.
Though our hearts yearned to make it more,
courage failed her.
Though I threw pride in the cuspidor,
she spit on it,
Remaining embraced with her first-won;
I craved her hands when they cupped my face;
She was a soft pillow for my dreams.
She salved me.
I am still hers and forever she
belongs to me.
I slid 'tween the blankets of her soul,
I caught at the edges of our bed,
to rock us,
The crude approach is for all the others,
They have not seen what I know, they
know no love.
They are statues standing in the square
of her lust.
She is inner beauty transcending
all my trust
My pillow shall be wet with salt tears,
Frustration will twist my limbs on the bed top.
I am atheist so no god have I to call to.
I must turn to my soul and there seek her in
We shall lie wrapped in our arms, twins from a