Читать книгу Collected Love Poems - Brian Patten - Страница 16

It’s evening,

Over the room’s silence other voices and sounds.

For them the world is a distant planet.

And lying here they are naked,

Her blonde hair falling is spread out across him.

Around her throat her mother’s necklace adds

Sophistication to her clumsiness.

Let their touchings be open—

They no longer belong to a race of pale children

Whose bodies are hardly born,

Nor among the virgins hung still inside their sadness,

But waking together their world is perfect.

Littered about the room still

Are the clothes they used for meeting in.

Evening, and the sun has moved across the room.

Now they will either sleep, lie still, or dress again.