A Virginal

Prosey:
Yes, yes! Come to me. I have desired lately.
I will not wipe your spine with much too hardness,
For our surrounding air hath a new coldness;
bumpy are my thighs, yet they have bound your tightly
And let it cloaked us with a pile of dry weed;
As with crushed methadone; as with crouching bitterness.
Oh it has spelled a swearword in its nearness
To slaughter us half in half the heads that read.
Yes, yes! Come to me. I have still the ecstacy,
high as orgy that´s a ritual of multiplication
green shoots swords withdrawn, aye it revolves in circles
Circumferential wound with her sleight arm muscles
Both of the barks a metaphor of the action:
As transparent their mourns, so generous the cupid´s charity.

Ezra:
No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
And left me cloaked as with a gauze of aether;
As with sweet leaves; as with subtle clearness.
Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness
To sheathe me half in half the things that sheathe her.
No, no! Go from me. I have still the flavour,
Soft as spring wind that's come from birchen bowers.
Green come the shoots, aye April in the branches,
As winter's wound with her sleight hand she staunches,
Hath of the trees a likeness of the savour:
As white their bark, so white this lady's hours.