She was pretty much undressed
and big brazen trees
thrust their leaves against the panes,
to snoop - so close, that close.

She sat in my big chair,
half-naked now, and clasped her hands;
her little feet - so fine, that fine -
all astir on the floor: pure pleasure.

A shaft of light, the colour
of wax, played truant
on her smiling mouth (I watched)
and then on her breast - a midge on a rose.

I kissed her pretty ankles.
She gave a sudden laugh, ealing
and sweet, in bright trills.
A laugh like faceted glass.

The little feet took cover
in her skirts. “That’s far enough.”
But even so, she’d let it go -
her laugh made a poor reproach.

Her helpless eyes beat under my kisses
- a gentle application of the lips.
She threw back that hopeless head
of hers: “Well, honestly, monsieur!”
And then: “You really have a nerve…”
A kiss on her breast was how I handled
that. Which raised a laugh -
The kind that says, I’m on for it.

She was pretty much undressed
and big brazen trees
thrust their leaves against the panes,
snooping - so close, that close.