Winefred

Your lost bewildered eyes speak strange questions
Which form a curious parador when seen
In the same mould of flesh which holds
The age old knowledge of your curved mouth
Some wistful nun terrified burning With thoughts
Of fleshly lore stranger than vague spiritual joys
Might peer uncertain from those troubled windows
But that a smite of sweet forbidden reminiscence
Comes and goes on your cruel tender mouth
And then you speak and in the sensuous
Warm caressing glow of your voice
Doubt melts away.
In your eyes I read the answer
Long awaited
There is no nun but the devil behind your eyes.

—Alec Bryan.