Desiderium

I shall never know the black dancer,

Her limbs four silky fishes.

My fingers will not follow

Lip, lobe and eyelid,

Nor ski the swift slopes

Of throat and rib and shoulder.

She will not stir as the reading whorls

Whisper in loin and navel.

I shall not see her eyes stilled,

Her turning mouth.

I shall not hear her love sounds

Nor taste her sweet salts.

There will be no homecomings:

She will not be at my house.

But I shall always have the thought

I should have asked her.