Sunday 26 October 2008

warming her pearls






Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, 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 (Warming Her Pearls)

4 comments:

  1. Un billet délicatement et merveilleusement sensuel. Quelle belle idée de réchauffer les perles dont la froideur saisit toujours le cou et la gorge.

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  2. belle source, c'est exactement ce que j'avais pense moi-meme: quelle idee extraordinaire, et si simple en meme temps, pour exprimer toute la devotion et la delicatesse d'un amour...

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  3. she has such a great face, that woman on the right

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  4. yes, lotus, I think that too - sometimes it seems that everything is expressed in a human face, everything.

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