A bucket by the well
full of moonlight
too heavy to be carried away
by the nymph
who lives in the shadow of dreams.
Wait till the moon pales
then take the bucket of pure water
and with a clean cloth of love
cleanse your body
of my impure thoughts by the hearth
and I shall be the fire
which hisses in vain
not reaching your body for
a total embrace.
If I ever reach you
I’ll burn you to cinders
so you won’t never again
turn your face in disgust
when you see my liver spotted hands
and thinking that somehow
my passion for your flesh is
unholy a travesty of true love.
And when you get old you’ll realise
that of your many lovers
I was the only one
willing to consume all of you.