When you lower your shoulders
And suddendly refuse
To consent to a description -
For your body is the object
Waiting the whole thing
Comes back to the subject -
some lover sees you naked
as a look has you made;
of wounds no traces,
nothing about the suitable foam
made you about
a smooth marble shadow
but cashmere and lambswool
in the aerial mapping of a wardrobe
and chalk hands shoot arrows
at you. By your cover.
In this bare not to be
the fold will conformity suit
in coldness and warmth
a few words have not a flair for
- as do yours naturally -
fixing the weak island
to the coast. You, strong,
clash with all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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