Tell me: are desire and heart one,
Or does the one, ablaze,
Snub and snuff the other?
With a gesture or a darting smile,
With amicable ease in brushing by,
Women don a state of swift undress,
Yet displayed taut
In crisp,
Effortless dispatch:
Would he be my grape,
Deft and ripe,
Prone to detonate a sun?
Thus one wonders:
Does the spark
Compose desire or love,
Or is it desire that causes light,
Making it pen and pin
Where a heart has grown an eye,
Meant to be so lit and struck,
In a state of its own undress,
That it makes the victim see
What the loveless passes blind?
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