Elfin Detour

A man is not meant to so long endure,
Such fever as this, such growing unease.
I’m in the grip of the loving disease.
Here in hill country, I’m unwell, unsure.
Return to me from your elfin detour.
License these hands for handy caprices;
Dispatch these lips for sweet peachy pieces.
For where love’s illness, there kisses are cure.

I say to you now, to woman from man:
Let’s go to that place where lovers retire,
Treat the fever that together began.
Unburden this fuel of white-hot desire.
Let’s jump out of the frying pan,
Headlong into fire.