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Warming Her Pearls

for Judith Radstone

Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm then, until evening
when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of
her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head...Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does...And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.

Carol Ann Duffy

 

Poly omorfo

Eίναι όμορφο paroinia. Η ποίηση όπως και η μουσική είναι δρόμοι να βρίσκουμε διέξοδο και να εκφράζουμε τα πάθη μας αλλά και τα αδιέξοδά μας τόσο όταν είμαστε μόνοι, όσο όταν αναζητούμε την ''εκλεκτή'' ή τον ''εκλεκτό'' ανάλογα. Να κάποια όμορφα ποιήματα που γράφτηκαν για κάποια αφέντρα :
http://www.mistressmoth.com/devotion.html