In my solitary thoughts I am often dying, and my wife is crying, with our little one unsure of everything. Reader, if you are B., you are my special one. These below are my thoughts, as I lay dying in Women in Love.
Your damp palms, damp fingers
How deftly you move them
Tangled in tiny grasps
Intertwined with baby clasps
My damp palms, damp fingers
How quickly they come awake
To see you once more, my wife
Before I sleep, leaving this life
Are you crying?
See how the bright of your light
All clad in white
Sparkles in the dark of the night
Quivering, trembling
Kicking up the Dust
Bowls of my desire
Nearly once again on fire
Your hands
I look at them
I listen to them
They whisper to me
That my time has come
That the end is near
Did they break your bangles?
Did they say, now hide your angles?
Did they say, now you must carry this corpse
Through the graveyard of the day?
Your damp palms, damp fingers
How deftly they tie them
Tangled in with tiny grasps
Intertwined them with baby clasps
But do they know
That when they heaved me up
I longed to come down
To hide in your heart?
And so this dirge
Will remain unfinished
Till you touch me again with
Your damp palms, damp fingers
