A Sunday (Love) Psalm ... Beneath my hands your small - TopicsExpress



          

A Sunday (Love) Psalm ... Beneath my hands your small breasts are the upturned bellies of breathing fallen sparrows. Wherever you move I hear the sounds of closing wings of falling wings. I am speechless because you have fallen beside me because your eyelashes are the spines of tiny fragile animals. I dread the time when your mouth begins to call me hunter. When you call me close to tell me your body is not beautiful I want to summon the eyes and hidden mouths of stone and light and water to testify against you. I want them to surrender before you the trembling rhyme of your face from their deep caskets. When you call me close to tell me your body is not beautiful I want my body and my hands to be pools for your looking and laughing. Leonard Cohen, Beneath My Hands - (The Spice-Box of Earth)
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 22:44:25 +0000

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