Monday, November 19, 2012

Speaking tongues, opera, the dancing girls

Speaking tongues, opera, the dancing girls
in a ballet near the window seem to leave
their form blazed on my eye. I am in love
with the moving lines, the way that she unfurls

her legs in the thin tights. The water swirls
in the transparent cup, a canoe has been carved
from the cypress tree. O beloved I crave
your body, your wet eyes, the simple curls

of eyelashes. I am wandering in the blonde
of early morning and the air I inhale
is cold. The yellows and greens are blending

in the distance, there is no true scale
for my love. I can't imagine what's beyond
the heavens or beyond her skin so pale.

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