kim klassen dot com beyond layers
her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth--nor
so remote a thing. it is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
each flower is a hand's span
of her whiteness. wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over--
William Carlos Williams
dreamy, hazy feel.
just a whisper.
and we did.
thank you kim.