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The mind I love
The mind I love must have wild places
Between Us, Nizar Qabbani
Between us twenty years of age between your lips and my lips when they meet and stay the years collapse the glass of a whole life shatters. The day I met you I tore up all my maps and my prophecies like an Arab stallion I smelled the rain of you before it wet me … Read more
The Cinnamon Peeler, by Michael Ondaatje
If I were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed And leave the yellow bark dust On your pillow. Your breasts and shoulders would reek You could never walk through markets without the profession of my fingers floating over you. The blind would stumble certain of whom they approached though you might bathe under … Read more
III, Edna St. Vincent Millay
Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter We drenched the altars of Love’s sacred grove, Shaking to earth green fruits, impatient after The launching of the colored moths of Love. Love’s proper myrtle and his mother’s zone We bound about our irreligious brows, And fettered him with garlands of our own, And spread a … Read more
Counterparts, by Octavio Paz
In my body you search the mountain for the sun buried in its forest. In your body I search for the boat adrift in the middle of the night. –Octavio Paz
Words, Wide Night, by Carol Ann Duffy
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us. I am thinking of you. The room is turning slowly away from the moon. This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad? In one of the tenses I am singing an impossible song of desire … Read more
On this bed, you dream things you can’t discuss with anyone.
On this bed, you dream things you can’t discuss with anyone. Nights last longer on this bed; they begin before a suitcase is unpacked, before dinner is served, before morning, before noon. Always, she dreams she is falling and there’s no way to stop. It’s dream fucking that goes on here, the kind that overtakes … Read more
Drunk as Drunk, by Pablo Neruda
Drunk as drunk on turpentine From your open kisses, Your wet body wedged Between my wet body and the strake Of our boat that is made of flowers, Feasted, we guide it – our fingers Like tallows adorned with yellow metal – Over the sky’s hot rim, The day’s last breath in our sails. Pinned … Read more
Arrival, by William Carlos Williams
And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom– feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind . . . ! William Carlos Williams
