beneath my hands
Beneath my hands Wherever you move I am speechless I dread the time When you call me close I want them
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.
LEONARD COHEN
