This time I’ve staid my time.
This time all the stars are fine.
A silver fortress holds my mind,
this time, not too unkindly.
Magic legs which fleet
from little poisons in the street
and latent legs, once gladly split
find no friend in these swift feet.
Where guilt is lost in meat and gore –
but maybe found in wanting more!
Light nerves once touched now sore
prove guilt hides even in awe.