I love to hold your eyes in mine, like hands.
To count each blink and keep mine very few.
I see myself, a pale pepper-pot girl
Who made a home within the sight of you.
I love to hold your hands in mine, like jewels,
Skin as cotton, brown like rum. Warm as June,
I would I’d wear you through the yellow months,
Take you off on white wintry afternoon
To have you by me. Darling, think we thus;
We are milk and coffee, cream and rum. Oh,
What a mix of luxuries, what great wealth
Does mingle when this trembl’ing close we come!
I love to touch your face to mine, like birds.
A gravel nest atop a city church
Does seem a sweeter home than that in which
Our hands and skin are pulled beyond one hair.
‘Tis mine own selfish Soul that thinks it fair
In asking – for your Heart, I would so dare.