Once ‘pon yon verse I crept, so sly,
Where shadows lick the latchbone dry—
Where hinges hum a lover’s sigh,
And oakwood moans to moon-struck sky.
Aye, mark thee how the timbers groan,
When knuckles brush the lock’s cold stone—
What ghosts abide in panel-grain?
What fever’d tongues ply dark refrain?
Spliting the corset by the seam,
Black silk sloughed like a serpent’s dream
The keyhole winks—oh, treason sweet!—
To spy thee bare from throat to feet…
Hark! How thy garters hiss and twist,
While candleflames dare lips unkissed—
The bedpost hums a wanton tune,
As floorboards rock to midnight’s spoon.
No psalm nor scripture shields thee now,
Whilst nail-scratched saints peel from the brow
Of yonder Christ who tilts His crown
To watch thy petticoats slide down…
Still—still!—the latch doth mock my pause,
Whilst through the chink I drink the cause:
Three drops of wax, one falling pearl…
And all thy shudders shake the world.
So let the hinges shriek their blame,
Let pious neighbors curse my name—
Tonight we’ll drown the Devil’s lore
In sweat-slick verse… behind thy door.
