It’s not the lover that we love, but love
itself, love as in nothing, as in O;
love is the lover’s coin, a coin of no country,
hence: the ring; hence: the moon—
no wonder that empty circle so often figures
in our intimate dark, our skin-trade,
that commerce so furious we often think
love’s something we share; but we’re always wrong.

When our lover mercifully departs
and lets us get back to the business of love again,
either we’ll slip it inside us like the host
or we’ll beat its gibbous drum that the whole world

There's not a fibre in my trembling frame
That does not vibrate when thy step draws near,
There's not a pulse that throbs not when I hear
Thy voice, thy breathing, nay thy very name.
When thou art with me every sense seems dim,
And all I am, or know, or feel is thee;
My soul grows faint, my veins run liquid flame,
And my bewildered spirit seems to swim
In eddying whirls of passion, dizzily.

When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart
A cold and bitter consciousness of pain:
The light, the warmth of life with thee depart,

Come darling and be my love!
I shall adorn thy hair with flowers of stars,
And thy ears with rings of the
young spring moon.
And around thy neck shall I put a garland
White as a row of swans,
And thy cloud-coloured dishevelled hair
I shall gather and bind
In dazzling ribbons of silvery lightning.
I shall mix sandalwood with moonlight
And with it wash thy body.
I shall snatch the red from the rainbow

You quiet
the storm within
my fearful, restless,
shattered soul

You've awakened
emotions I thought to be
dead and buried long ago
you gave them life

You are my shelter
in place of a dwelling
It is you who are my shelter
offering me protection

Love, Life, Hope
You have given me
Such wondrous gifts
You are a Goddess

I love you
My Inspiration
My Love, My Life
My Everything

SHE has tender eyes that tell
All her prim, set lips suppress—
Daring thoughts that ever dwell
Prisoned in her bashfulness;
Hints of sudden tenderness
That within her breast rebel.
Till her bosom's fall and swell
Tell her meaning all too well,
To her heart's demure distress.
She has soft, smooth cheeks that flame
As she nestles close, so close,
With the new half-joy, half-shame,
That within her bosom glows,
And each fevered feature shows.
Her hot pulses beat acclaim

A bright red lotus has bloomed today
To passers-by, what a fragrant Entree!
The wind, the bees, or the gentle spray:
Who needs an invitation to a party, eh?

The water trembled gleefully,
Tickled by the golden rays.
In how many ways do I love thee?

The bee's busy counting the ways ...
The lotus blushed;
And turned scarlet in face:
Look! His chariot of seven horses
Race through the eastern skyways ...

In every one of his million hands
He carries a tangled web of love.
The lotus was charmed. The buzzing of the bees

My lord, embrace me deeply, and soothe my heart.
Take me in your fond embrace I’ll offer you my body, young and tender.
Come and make love to me, my love, I’ll clasp you firmly.
My lord, embrace me deeply, and soothe my heart.

The bliss not found in the heaven or Vaikunth is in his embrace,
In going to meet Narsinh’s Lord in forest!
My lord, embrace me deeply, and soothe my heart.

A tearful tincture washes
Cabbage-green skies;
Beneath the dribbling bushes
Your raincoats lie;

Pale white in private moonlight,
Like round-eyed sores,
Flap your scabby kneecaps apart,
My ugly whores!

We loved each other in those days,
Ugly blue whore!
We ate boiled eggs
And weed.

One night you made me a poet,
Ugly blond whore.
Get between my legs,
I'll whip you.

I puked up your greasy hair,
Ugly black whore;
You tried to unstring
My guitar.

Blah! Some of my dried-up spit,

My light thou art, without thy glorious sight
My eyes are darkened with eternal night;
My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light.
I
Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly;
Thou art my light, if hid, how blind am I!
Thou art my life, if thou withdraw'st I die.
III
Thou art my life; if thou but turn away,
My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way;
Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray.

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand. . . a simple thing,
Yes I wept for it—this . . . the paper's light. . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.