It is shy as a gathered eyelet neatly worked in shrinking violet; it is the dilating iris, tucked away, a tightening throb when fucked. It is a soiled and puckered hem, the golden treasury's privy purse. With all the colours of a bruise, it is the fleck of blood in albumen. I dreamed your body was an instrument and this was the worn mouthpiece to which my breathing lips were bent. Each note pleaded to love a little longer, longer, as though it was dying of hunger. I fed that famished mouth my ambergris. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STONEWALL JACKSON; MORTALLY WOUNDED AT CHANCELLORSVILLE by HERMAN MELVILLE PSALM 139 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE IT'S ONLY FAIR by BERTON BRALEY THE KIND WORD by ADA CAMBRIDGE THE BRAVE ROLAND by THOMAS CAMPBELL ECLOGUE THE FIRST; ROBERT AND RAUFE by THOMAS CHATTERTON |