He Knew That Hair Couldn't Feel; He

In Our Rags Of Light, All Dressed To Kill.

I Read With Some Amusement My Reputation As A Ladies' Man. My Friends Are Amused By That, Too, Because They Know My Life.

As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armour Themselves Against Wonder.

I Have Often Prayed For You Like This Let Me Have Her

And I'll Dance With You In Vienna, I'll Be Wearing A River's Disguise. The Hyacinth Wild On My Shoulder My Mouth On The Dew Of Your Thighs. And I'll Bury My Soul In A Scrapbook, With The Photographs There And The Moss. And I'll Yield To The Flood Of Your Beauty, My Cheap Violin And My Cross.