“Alas, Alas, Alas!
The idle king has died”

I howl,
I breath,
I yield,
But no more!
No more baffling silence!
No me, no you!
Alas, alas, alas—
am I the idle king?

It might serve,
or it might not,
But a confession of my love it is:
A sincere mechanism
Of my body to express,
To free,
To yield;
I yield to you;
I bend to you;
I die to you.

Alas, alas, alas!
You were far beyond
A scepter and a crown.

May I crown thy head?
May I trick thy carnose mouth?

Oh, allow me to lay,
Die amongst thy caress.

I—you but I:
At last, I will die;
Betwixt my carcass
In forever sugar of thy breath.

Let me sense the scent of Eden,
Oh, my love! At last, at last!

“La la la la!” Speak thy anguished eyes,
“La la la la.
Lala
La.”

Move then on, my only arouse,
Wrest from this mundane threshold
Our perennial aisle.

The idle king has died.
He yielded,
He howled,
He missed but thy
Grandiose penetrating sights.

“Inshallah he will drown this ephemeral sin in the past awhile”

La,
La,
La.