(no subject)
Woman to Old and Desiring Man
My flesh a gate of neither ivory
nor thorn, in the winter-long flood-
tide of longing. Prairie winds restrain
your hand whose dark temptations
forces forth as forcing poses force
desire. I never granted you the gate,
not even on request. Instead I granted
ocher acreages under rinds of a lemon
sun still fraught with white, whose light
is less desire than anatomy tonight.
There, where you could tender-touch
both oat and canola, sunflowers
as though from Tuscany, how all
you ever did was tender-gazing on
the gate of neither ivory nor thorn.
I've told you no trespass' allowed.
I'm no Leda. You - now swan. O
what short, and shortening, winter.
My flesh a gate of neither ivory
nor thorn, in the winter-long flood-
tide of longing. Prairie winds restrain
your hand whose dark temptations
forces forth as forcing poses force
desire. I never granted you the gate,
not even on request. Instead I granted
ocher acreages under rinds of a lemon
sun still fraught with white, whose light
is less desire than anatomy tonight.
There, where you could tender-touch
both oat and canola, sunflowers
as though from Tuscany, how all
you ever did was tender-gazing on
the gate of neither ivory nor thorn.
I've told you no trespass' allowed.
I'm no Leda. You - now swan. O
what short, and shortening, winter.