94 My hands are seeking you within the caves of sheets And crumple stones like soft defenseless cloth. My tongue is beating in my trembling bell of hips To grasp your name in my pulsating bones. You deafen me with waves of wet and salty sound, Which crumple bones of mine in stones of cloth -- My bells of flesh, my wax of bells in silent rumble, My flow of wax, my tongue of flow -- my thirst -- My thirst of lying prone, lost bells -- for your bell-tower, My thirst of wax -- for cuddling to your stones, My thirst of hardened hips -- for ringing with your tongues, Thirst of my flesh, my thirst of you -- my thirst.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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