No shades of greys

I tend to look down at the fire sideways;
Then draw my dress away from naked flames;
I listen to proposals and to plays
With shy sincerity; I know the games
Men occupy themselves with, as they guess
The ways to sooth and, then, beguile with charm;
The whole drive of their talk forms a caress,
That they would wrap me in and make the harm,
They have reserved for me, a reverie,
Which is a distillation of their goals:
To steal this cunt and make themselves as free,
With me, as they could wish; forget their souls;
For these are black - there are no shades of greys;
So I look down and, thus, avoid their praise.