My hero bares his nerves along my wrist

That rules from wrist to shoulder，

Unpacks the head that， like a sleepy ghost，

Leans on my mortal ruler，

The proud spine spurning turn and twist.

And these poor nerves so wired to the skull

Ache on the lovelorn paper

I hug to love with my unruly scrawl

That utters all love hunger

And tells the page the empty ill.

My hero bares my side and sees his heart

Tread； like a naked Venus，

The beach of flesh， and wind her bloodred plait；

Stripping my loin of promise，

He promises a secret heat.

He holds the wire from this box of nerves

Praising the mortal error

Of birth and death， the two sad knaves of thieves，

And the hunger's emperor；

He pulls that chain， the cistern moves.