One of the only things I know by heart…
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones
When small birds sighed she would sigh back at them
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one
the shapes a bright container can contain
Of her choice virtues, only God should speak
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek
How well her wishes went
She stroked my chin
She taught me turn, and counter-turn, and stand
She taught me touch, that undulant white skin
I nibbled meekly from her proferred hand
She was the sickle, I, poor I, the rake
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
But what prodigious mowing we did make
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize
She played it quick, she played it light and loose
My eyes they dazzled at her flowing knees
Her several parts could keep a pure repose
Or one hip quiver, with a mobile nose
She moved in circles, and those circles moved
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay
I’m a martyr to a motion not my own
What’s freedom for? To know eternity
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone
But who could count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways
I measure time by how a body sways
(I’ve forgotten/not included the punctuation…shapes change when words become memories…)
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