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 the box of nerves
                                    Praising the mortal error
                                    Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
                                    And the hunger's emperor;
                                    He pulls the chain, the cistern moves.