of shadowy dreams,
two charming elder sisters
    with nacreous nails

    and tender fingers
approach his bed, and sit him
    at a window wide

    open, where blue airs
bathe in masses of flowers,
    then through his dense locks

    where dews are pearling
parade slender, magical,
    terrible fingers.

    He hears their musics —
absorbed intakings of breath
    often broken by

    dewfalls of honey
stopped just in time by one long
    hiss of saliva

    sucked back from their lips
that seem yearning for kisses...
    He can hear their long

    black eyelashes beat
perfumed silences — their fine
    electric fingers

    arouse his brooding
abandon — regal nails click
    tiny ticks to death.

    He now feels rising
within him the luxurious
    wines of indolence —

    harmonica sighs
of a new delirium —
    welling up, sinking —