Come pa** your hand across my lips.
For I am not accustomed to this light.
Our love is batlike, beats about the dark.
It does not miss its mark. Your face defines
My hands to me. What shall I learn in light?
Rise, pa** your hand across me.
Your childhood (what's the time?) was in my arms asleep.
It's ten o'clock between the sea and night,
Midnight between us, seven between the dawn-slit blinds.
Oh no, I'm not accustomed to this light
That comes to open up my eyes like cold
Eyelets. On the gunsights' scales I'll weigh
My blind gaze and the terror of your clay.
Rise, pa** your hand through me.
Face to face, will I still have a face?
Perhaps I'll speak. Perhaps I will stay quiet.
Come pa** your hand across my lips.
For I am not accustomed to this light.