In the Beginning Is a Coup d’Oeil Or a Little Talk One Has to Pass

 

There you have it, a pillow amidst all,

revealed, lovely, luscious, soft,

is like a bow that bends and brings

her fair game to its drawn-back shot.

 

Close and closer and still closer as can be

when all else is gone, and, in the eyes,

those eyes hold the other whole and fit,

and the kiss grows ripe to breach and join

 

each other’s transfixed breath—as that much

with much else—that pillow, glossy, plump,

sweet, and soft, may claim and surely earn.

 

But with such little pillows, there’s also, as a rule,

little talk, both after and before, each should pass

if we hope to outdo the headless drift of time.