Rabbit Snared In The Night

Why do you spurt and sprottle     like that, bunny?     Why should I want to throttle     you, bunny?     Yes, bunch yourself between     my knees and lie still.     Lie on me with a hot, plumb, live weight,     heavy as a stone, passive,     yet hot, waiting.     What are you waiting for?     What are you waiting for?     What is the hot, plumb weight of your desire on me?     You have a hot, unthinkable desire of me, bunny.     What is that spark     glittering at me on the unutterable darkness     of your eye, bunny?     The finest splinter of a spark     that you throw off, straight on the tinder of my nerves!     It sets up a strange fire,     a soft, most unwarrantable burning     a bale-fire mounting, mounting up in me.     'Tis not of me, bunny.     It was you engendered it,     with that fine, demoniacal spark     you jetted off your eye at me.     I did not want it,     this furnace, this draught-maddened fire     which mounts up my arms     making them swell with turgid, ungovernable strength.     'Twas not I that wished it,     that my fingers should turn into these flames     avid and terrible     that they are at this moment.     It must have been your inbreathing, gaping desire     that drew this red gush in me;     I must be reciprocating your vacuous, hideous passion.     It must be the want in you     that has drawn this terrible draught of white fire     up my veins as up a chimney.     It must be you who desire     this intermingling of the black and monstrous fingers of Moloch     in the blood-jets of your throat.     Come, you shall have your desire,     since already I am implicated with you     in your strange lust.