I need you closely, closer, more.
This is the awakening of a girl;
gingerly, knot by knot,
my insides still turn nimble
at thought’s taste of you.
If I were a tree,
And every leaf an eye,
all one-thousand and forty-five
would be amazed at you.
I need you nearest, nearly, most.
This is the stirring of a lion,
who, rippling, strip by strip,
turns an iron cage into a leafing heart
who beats and yearns for you.
If I were love itself,
the girl, sleeping by the cage,
would regard it with great respect
before being gobbled, eaten, up.