I should have thought in a dream
you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing,
orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would
say (in a dream) I send you this, who left
the blue veins of your throat unkissed.
Why was it that your hands (that
never took mine) your hands that I could see
drift over the orchid heads so carefully,
your hands, so fragile, sure to lift so gently,
the fragile flower stuff ah, ah, how
was it
You never sent (in a dream) the
very form, the very scent, not heavy, not sensuous,
but perilous perilous of
orchids, piled in a great sheath, and folded underneath
on a bright scroll some word:
Flower sent to flower;
for white hands, the lesser
white,
less lovely of flower leaf,
or
Lover to lover, no kiss,
no touch, but forever and
ever this.