INFIDELITIES

by: Donald Evans (1884-1921)

Y darling, you write me charming letters from your bed,

They caress me, and the darkness covers us,

And your luminous whispers are in my ear,

You call me, and I come to you as I read,

Eager to give you my hands,

And be lost upon your breast.

But often next day when I re-read a letter I dream,

I wonder, was not your husband, while you wrote it

In the next room rising from his bath,

And sprinkling rice powder over himself

Making ready to come to you?

Were not perhaps the words you wrote

Your torch to set yourself in flames?

Did not the last Echoes

Of your call to your lover

Help to sweep you not too passively

To accustomed clamorous arms?

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