Frivolous is my Hate by Dylan Thomas — Read

Frivolous is my hate, / Singed with bestial remorse / Of unfulfilment of desired force, / And lust of tearing late;

Now could I raise / Her dead, dark body to my own / And hear the joyous rustle of her bone / And in her eyes see deathly blaze; / Now could I wake

To passion after death, and taste / The rapture of her hating, tear the waste / Of body. Break, her dead, dark body, break.