THE KISS
As purposeless as wind-blown leaves we kissedAnd felt the fusion of the centuries.Whence did it come, that whiff of orris root?The clatter of a rapier to the floor?The brush of lace against my pulsing throatWhere your arm pressed the riot of my bloodBack to my heart? Behind you seemed to growA chest with dragon feet inlaid with pearl,A couch, with fleur-de-lis in rusted goldUpon a pattern delicate in silk,And oval mirrors thick with cloudy giltIn fruits and Cupids. I could see your eyesBlue as the sea; and yet they did not smile.But I could feel your lips hot as the sunOn apple orchards feeding on my mouth.You named me queen; yet, looking down, I sawBare feet in wooden sabots and I knewThose feet were mine, broad, toil-hard, peasant-bredThat trod too close to earth to know the easeOf carriage cushions and the 'broidered stoolMilady sets her satin shoon upon.Reflected in the floor I saw the heelsOf your court slippers. They were poppy-red;And diamond garters clipt your hose aboveThe finer curving of your supple limbs.And all the while your eyes were blue and cold!
