I was reminded of this poem the other day. It’s sensual and seemed a good piece for autumn, somehow. Slower and more indulgent than summer, perhaps. Simmering desire and things unspoken, like secrets hidden beneath fallen leaves. 🍁
*Warming Her Pearls* by Carol Ann Duffy
“Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress bids me wear them, warm them, until evening when I´ll brush her hair. At six, I place them round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,
resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.
She´s beautiful. I dream about her in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.
I dust her shoulders with a rabbit´s foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.
Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see her every movement in my head…. Undressing, taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way
she always does…. And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All l night I feel their absence and I burn.”