The Husband Sings to his Love

She appeared on my chest
tattooed like age
and pain.

Like a soft flock of hills
whose course returns with dawn,

My beloved speaks
with a love that barely holds
the heart of the day and a barefoot voice.

Under my shadow
her hips were hemmed by flesh.

For me she drives the cattle of dawn
with her breasts,

And the afternoon breaks loose to her passing
like wounded reeds
and half-opened laurel.

Eyelids traveled
by snow and midday,

A well where my unbridled
mouth slides
like a torrent of doves
and dampened salt.

—Clusters of anger and a vocation of kisses
were placed upon your thighs.

I will make bouquets of water
fall beneath your thighs,
and faltered spumes
and secret flocks.

Come,
Beloved.

The trees
all possess your candid stature,
your fallen eyelids,
and your dampened gesture,

Building of larks
inhabited by climates
where the sun rules
over golden vineyards.
Wild birds
will find me at your shadow.

Your voice of fallen air
among four white lillies
will march through my ear
as the afternoon approaches.

Come,
I will savor you with joy.
You will dream of me
tonight.

– Eunice Odio

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