Despite a lonely glaze within my chest
that steady beat still drummed a pattern true
and had not missed; as lonesome would behest,
but pattered onward tho' it were anew.

Until the fairest gaze with hands sateen
caressed and conquered in, with dainty feel
that stroked, and wrought to change what peace had been
to tap behind my breast her fervent zeal.

At will, and touch she spurred a thumping pulse
as tho' my core were drums, and she'd out-play;
a trancing mood no man could then repulse
but let the beauty dance and waltz her way.

My gentled rapping churned, her grace outdone!
To thwart in that was mine, till then, she'd won.