Across the Desk from me
in the British Library
The shape of nostril is enough alone
To say, “Write love about me. Write it now!”
The message pierces through the central bone
That holds my ribs together like a vow
Of chastity that must be broken. Rip
My veins apart with beauty from your face,
The fullness of your darkened lower lip,
A duskiness and plumpness to disgrace
Godfearing strictures everywhere. I need
To feel the loveliness of eyebrow, lash,
And lid creating holiness’s creed,
This new religion entering the gash
Your face has made across my chest, the jab
Blue eyes have fixed my blood with, with their stab.