The trees cling to the sunlight in their branches,
Veiled like a woman, evoking times long-gone,
Dusk passes by, weeping… Trembling, my fingers
Trace the line of your thighs.
My clever fingers linger upon the shivering
Flesh beneath your petal-soft gown.
The art of the touch, complex and curious, equals
The trance of fragrance, the miracle of sound.
Slowly I follow the contours of your thighs,
Your shoulders, your neck, your unappeased breasts.
My delicate desire denies itself kisses;
It strokes and swoons in your white voluptuousness.
This my working translation of “The Touch” (i.e. still in draft form), from the French, which is part of my larger project involving the creative works, correspondence, and journals of Renée Vivien (1877-1909), as well as remembrances and other works written about and inspired by Vivien after her death.
© 2013 Melanie E. Gregg
[I had to insert the asterisks here because WP would not let me separate the strophes without them.]
Although my legal copyright is Melanie Gregg, I do prefer “Lemony,” just so you know. 😉