My love . . . gave me a gold ring. She said --
"Wear this . . . till you are dead.
Or -- if you cease to love me --
Throw it . . . in the deeps of the sea."
She wept, and turned away.
*
Then she left me. Years ago.
I keep the ring in a drawer.
*
Sometimes, I fetch it out and think
-- Holding the ring before my eyes --
Of her long white breast -- her thin white arm --
And the cool place between her thighs
Where I did love . . . to drink.
I think I will find her and say:
"I threw your ring . . . in the depths of the sea."
Then I will stride away.
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Copyright 1998, 2002.
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