#poem #poetry #amwriting infidelius


a whole week of work
wrapped into an ankle
to see if it is tanned or stockinged

one grows too old for hope
of that moment when plucked from a shelf
two souls affirm together

and do not see the swelling breasts
but dance in joy to tasted tongues
and slide and slip unguilty in the pleasure

wine does not ask
nor does it tell

so like the gate-keeper of macbeth
I shall grumble to bed
filing that ankle of desire
              among my books

The Blue Book

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