He swears every now and then to begin a better life.
But when night comes with its own counsel,
its own compromises and prospects --
when night comes with its own power
of a body that needs and demands,
he returns, lost, to the same fatal pleasure.

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Yo, señor, no soy malo, aunque no
me faltarían motivos para serlo.

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Thank You
to All
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Don't even think about it.

As I was going down those ill-famed stairs
you were coming through the door, and for a second
I saw your unfamiliar face and you saw mine.
Then I hid so you wouldn't see me again,
and you hurried past me, hiding your face,
and slipped inside the ill-famed house
where you couldn't have found pleasure any more than I did.

And yet I could have given you the love that you were looking for;
You could have given me - so your tired, knowing eyes
implied -
the love that I was looking for.
Our bodies sensed and sought each other:
our blood and skin understood.

But we both hid ourselves, flustered.

more here (picture) and here (poem)

as it is in Heaven