At Stockholm in White Stains by Aleister Crowley.

“What need of language, barren and false and bleak,
While our white arms could link each other so,
And fond red lips their partners mutely seek?” [via]

Consider also:

  1. “She creeps alive upon the tawny sands, False glittering woman, girt about with lies! She steals toward me, the tigress sleek and fierce! Destroying devil, with long sinuous hands And hate triumphant in blue-murderous eyes! I nerve myself to spring upon and pierce With maddening fangs those firm white bosom towers, To tear those lithe voluptuous limbs apart And glut my ravening soul with vengeance. Heart Quickens as she draws near; the scent of flowers Breathes round her damned presence. Shall she live To triumph with those tainted lips of song — She whispered ‘Dearest, I have kept thee long’. I flung myself before her, ‘Love, forgive!'”
  2. “Remembrance of love’s long delights Is to remember sighs and tears, Yet I will think upon the nights I whispered into passionate ears The fond desires, the sweet faint fears. My lover’s limbs of lissome white Gleamed in the darkness and strange light, The wondrous orbs voluptuously Bent on me all unearthly bright: But we must part, and love must die.”
  3. “Fond limbs with mine were intertwined, A hand lascivious fondled me; My ears grew deaf, my eyes grew blind, My tongue was hot from kisses free, Short madness, and we lazily Lolled back upon the bed of fire. I was a-weary — her desire Drew her upon me — Marion, fie! You work our pleasure till I tire: But we must part, and love must die.”
  4. “You say another’s sensuous lips Shall open to my kisses there: When weary, steal those luscious sips; Another’s hands play in my hair And find delight for me to bare The bosom, and the passionate mound White and, for Venus’ temple, round, A garden of wild thyme whose eye My sword shall piece, and never wound: For we must part, and love must die.”
  5. “Fame brought a golden crown, bejeweled o’er With precious rubies beyond price, and cried ‘The world is young, thy name shall evermore Ring in men’s ears, stately and glorified’ But I, with shuddering lips, to him replied ‘Fame is the amaranth that fools desire My soul’s price is beyond thy jewel’s pride Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire?'”