Dusk Appetites

It is no longer daylight when he comes
To take me in my little apartment;
We roll amongst lost shadows; this album
Of fucking is so fleeting, I'm content
To abandon soon vanished impressions
That, afterwards, seems to me so confused,
I can't remember his lurid confessions
Nor the positions, through which we have cruised;

And when the night is pitch and he must go
Back to his kith and kin, let their austere,
Sober delights countermand all that slow,
Languorous lovemaking, we gently steered
Through into night, which needs no oversight,
Knowing his spurts must sate dusk appetites.