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As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter
and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a
talent for squad-drill.I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each
momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat,
bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles.An elderly waiter with
trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked
cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden . . ."I decided that if
the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments
of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention
with careful subtlety to this end.
T. S. Eliot
Read poems about / on: pink, laughter, green, lost, dark, star
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