by Meridel Le Sueur
There is a nest in the marble pillar of your neck
Where young birds fly.
They beat their spiced wings within the blossom of your breasts,
The red and restless birds of your pulses are ravenous
And flutter sharply against my hands.
Night, and the fluttering of small birds
In the fragrant copse of your flesh, beloved,
Amidst white grasses, fragrant and sweet.
The silent singing of winged birds
Startled from their crimson marshes
By a too bold hunter;
Startled winging against your pale opal flesh, their sky,
Night and the throbbing of passing wings, multitudinous,in your body.
Your skin is tremulous with the amorous movement of caged birds.
One I captured, trembled in my hands,
And shut its green shadowed eyes to my flame lips,
My captive bird, beloved.
Your body is full of little birds moving in their sleep.
My lips find them in the intimate nest of your neck,
My lips startle them into flight beneath the marble arch of your arm.
Your body is full of little birds singing as they fly.