Poem VI from Sonnets
When in such lust that flesh denies all hearts,
I switch roles with the scant costume you wear.
The tailor’s clever hand suggests you bare,
But I say wrap those sweet imagined parts
With me the cloth that drapes your curving path,
The thread that hems it up lustily so,
The dye that soaks it through adagio,
While witchily we roil a cauldron bath.
But here you rouse me from lust's easy grip.
With words whistling as sweetly as a fife,
You're telling me about your married life,
To save our fragile fabric, new friendship.
I’m grateful. Your words place me in your debt
For stirring dignity and not regret.