Three Friends

You on the bed beside me hold

One arm straight up till it is cold,

Then let it fall, the softest part

Lying for warmth against my heart. 

My fingers with your fingers’ ends

Play in and out; a foot defends 

Deep regions from another foot. 

You turn and find my eyes.  I put

A curious palm where it is seized

By a quick hand—but you are pleased. . . . 

There is a third one in the room. 

See—in the sun, where the figures bloom

Blood-red on the rug—somebody kneels? 

Time smiles at us, and rests his heels. 

Outside a hundred horses graze. 

He will drive on; but now he stays. 

Soon I must follow hence, and slip

Into my place beneath the whip. . . . 

He smiles upon us.  Come, forget!

He has not thought of rising yet.