A noose around a pale neck,
My love bestows…
The light and feathery kiss of death,
In time, my fate, does owe.

But oh how it goes…
So easy to swallow the loss of the lamb.
If pain be bright in her eyes,
And her fingers long and fair…
I cannot then foresee a more befitting start,
To such rapturous despair.

For this feverish thing cannot live,
In spite of what strangers may see.
With a lasting imposition of this sparrow in my hand does give,
Such a trusting naivety on which wolves descend.

Therein lies the burden of my acquaintance,
For the pack can only hold off on a scent for so long.
A gentleman has only one line to cross before patience is spent,
And with the gnashing of teeth…
An innocent meeting can go so wrong.