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.