Were these my eyes your eyes, you’d see
A face un-made for any maid but thee,
And were my lips your lips, you’d sing
To ears not yours but mine, that we are spring,
Her spirit dancing through the you that’s me,
The central me that leaps inside of you.
Were these my hands your hands, you’d feel
The weight of fire that waits on no ideal,
But seizes, ere its will be blown,
The body of all joy it’s ever known,
My breathing breast your breast that throbs me through,
Your fingers mine that take me taking you!