The scent of thought, of meadow, of manger.
Let the universe pass with its cape of sparks.
Let it roll in the incline of purple winds.
Let it tear its forehead like a drunken crooner.
I listen to this crumb of bellowing crystal,
the glow spilling from such slender lips,
small cupful of flesh, little milky snout
to which my breasts run like dripping loaves.
Let the universe pass
with its fleet of wolves and helmet of glass,
its floury heart, its hole in reason.
I have to fall upon this thought,
let spring in it blackness the licorice
of these sweet nipples spilling down my blouse,
search among the hay and the oxen’s nearness
a delicate mouth, a glow that brays,
god-cub,
poured through my sex,
and I have to quench with my love and its white streams
that fistful of thirst.
My whole body is delight.
Blessed my aureoles under the kiss of a god.
