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Night Where Through a plum sleep, A laughing lyre Strummed my tears, and my eyes awoke To the spang of a dancer dressed in fire, And the hust of a dancer dressed in smoke! Arch-flame, Crown-shadow, they seized my hands And spun my surprise --a breath-left-behind trip!-- Through lava-rived vales and harsh licorice lands, Sensuous winds like a gasp-rhythmed whip That bloodied my conscious skin, Cruelly caressed, Flayed me aware of the dancer to come: Out of an orchid, a dancer dressed in the perfumed pulse of a midnight drum... One, hush-garbed in the crush of leaves... Another, robed in the thrash of salt sea... A fourth, rough-stockinged, a sigh of sheaves That danced too near... --My hands broke free, Stripping away the thin silk of alarms As I tasted the full bite of passionate dew... ...Collapsing, Recapturing sleep in the arms Of the dancer dressed in You.
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