Beneath my Hands by Leonard Cohen

– from “The Spice-Box of Earth”

Beneath my hands 
your small breasts 
are the upturned bellies 
of breathing fallen sparrows. 

Wherever you move 
I hear the sounds of closing wings 
of falling wings. 

I am speechless 
because you have fallen beside me 
because your eyelashes 
are the spines of tiny fragile animals. 

I dread the time 
when your mouth 
begins to call me hunter. 

When you call me close 
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. 

I want them 
to surrender before you 
the trembling rhyme of your face 
from their deep caskets. 

When you call me close 
to tell me 
your body is not beautiful 
I want my body and my hands 
to be pools 
for your looking and laughing.

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