On the occasion of a friend's departure from Vienna. August fifth 57/ The sexual and the spiritual intermingle. Tonight was I betrayed by the sexual. Somerset Maugham wrote a story about my grief, But he over-rated it. The chauffeur shocked the diplomat when seen playing Naked with his employer along the beach Because the diplomat, you see, first loved her. I came second and far too late to my Greek.Fate sat down and cried in my flesh Because my Helen had too soon launched her ship, And when she sat on my lap it was but one night. Though our hearts yearned to make it more, courage failed her. Though I threw pride in the cuspidor, she spit on it, Remaining embraced with her first-won; true female.I craved her hands when they cupped my face; they comforted.She was a soft pillow for my dreams. She salved me.I am still hers and forever she belongs to me. I slid 'tween the blankets of her soul, and stretching,I caught at the edges of our bed, to rock us,The crude approach is for all the others, UnfortunatesThey have not seen what I know, they know no love.They are statues standing in the square of her lust.She is inner beauty transcending all my trustMy pillow shall be wet with salt tears, Frustration will twist my limbs on the bed top.I am atheist so no god have I to call to.I must turn to my soul and there seek her in consolation.We shall lie wrapped in our arms, twins from a womb, stillborn.