Upon the heavy bough of heart’s desire, Thou hang’st, a fruit so succulent and sweet. Thy glance doth set my very veins on fire, And make the rhythm of my pulse retreat. Thy skin, a velvet peach within my hold, Yields soft beneath the pressure of my hand; A story of a thousand nights untold, Written in sweat upon this fevered land. I thirst to drink the nectar of thy kiss, That flows like wine from some celestial vine, To drown my senses in this liquid bliss, And tangle all thy limbs in knots with mine. Let prudence sleep while hungry lovers feed, Satisfying every wild and wanton need.