Alexander smelt of violets,
And you of vanilla. My tongue,
Touching some part of you, forearm
Or nipple, tells me you are salt,
And yet your odour still rises,
Powerfully sweet> Paradise
Of my imagination!
Thickets, bowers, crevices! Paths
Twined and retwined, going nowhere!
In your veins there are nightingales;
In your bowels, hyenas. Cries
Reach me from those you long ago
Devoured, all but their voices.
Softly, with tongue-tip and finger
I follow the clues you have left.
The little hairs stand up. You groan,
Hugging your dream and contented.
What do you mean me to find? You
Withdraw into sleep and won’t answer –
Present and solid beside me,
Further and further receding.