A Narrow World . . .
A narrow world to a stranger's eyes, and to mine:
Expanse of wrinkled sheets, impassioned breath
(Somehow the bedroom ended here, and fine
Enough; the rented furnishings were sad),
The weary living room, quiet for death,
Except sometimes we played a hot, mad
Record and cavorted in the skin.
Add bathroom, kitchen; all of the world we were in.
Narrow, yes. But wide enough, and full
(Of vulgar lamps, wall paper pushing in)
Of Empire high romance, sweet sounds made small;
And we were what we were and where we met.
Reason was an alien, and sin
Somebody we forgot we ever met.
Amoral as two pigeons with shut eyes,
We swallowed poppy seeds to grow our lies.