A Lust Letter – For My Dulcinea
To my most darling, Dearest, morning’s come
and all the work of night has passed away
into its jaws. The earnest laws of man
are moving on the streets and greet our dreams
with clatter and with clash. Machinery’s dumb,
ridiculous and awkward steel ballet
will sweep us up, all of us, in the span
of sun’s day, but I swear, by all its beams:
Oh, when the sun shall pass away today,
and when the moon shall rise, when falls the tide.
Oh, when the pulse of day becomes the heat
igniting in the dark, the spark, I’ll say,
“Fear not, mi corazon, man’s day has lied.
The machineries of night are far more sweet.”