i
And when it falls like the smooth arms of angels
in amazement at such an abundance of grace,
the prince’s roughened hands chalk its white wake
where it sings amid the cracked ionic columns –
but I can draw you only in falling,
aspire to drawing you in velvet, cinnabar
in coffee organdie, sunk silence, in disguise
in sepia Je baiserai ta bouche, Iokanaan
the lowest layer moon-wrapt, découpaged,
sinking fin de notre siècle, love. Or I could
drink you, as unlike the cold stars you
are black cognac and ink-black Je baiserai
ta bouche in the crimson stabs – wild shelter.
Wild shelter – ta bouche in the crimson stabs
are black cognac and ink-black Je baiserai
drink you – as unlike the cold stars, you,
sinking fin de notre siècle, love. Or I could –
the lowest layer moon-wrapt, découpaged,
in sepia Je baiserai ta bouche, Iokanaan –
in coffee organdie, sunk silence, in disguise
aspire to drawing you in velvet, cinnabar
but I can draw you only in falling,
where it sings amid the cracked ionic columns
the prince’s roughened hands chalk its white wake
in amazement at such an abundance of grace
and when it falls – like the smooth arms of angels.