(One of a series of pastiches of other poems to the plot of William Carlos William’s Plums)<\/p>\n
I sleep, but my tongue craveth: I have put off my bathrobe; My beloveds wafted their scent past the holes of my nostrils, I rose up to open to my beloveds; I opened to my beloveds; The roommate that goes about the flat found me, I charge you, O lovers of Damsons, Originally posted on Making Light<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" (One of a series of pastiches of other poems to the plot of William Carlos William’s Plums) I sleep, but my tongue craveth: it is the scent of my beloveds that tempteth, saying, Open to us, our eater, our vore, our predator, our hungry one: for our skins are covered with frost and our stones … Continue reading Song of Plums<\/span>
\nit is the scent of my beloveds that tempteth, saying,
\nOpen to us, our eater, our vore,
\nour predator, our hungry one:
\nfor our skins are covered with frost
\nand our stones with the chill of the icebox.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nhow shall I put it on?
\nI have brushed my teeth;
\nhow shall I defile them?<\/p>\n
\nand my tongue was moistened for them.<\/p>\n
\nand my hands dripped with juice,
\nand my fingers with sweet sticky juice
\nupon the handle of the icebox.<\/p>\n
\nbut my beloveds had withdrawn themselves and were gone:
\nmy soul failed when I smelled them:
\nI sought them, but I could not find them;
\nI sniffed the air, but smelled them not.<\/p>\n
\nHe shrugged at me, he denied all knowledge;
\nThe sharer of the icebox took away my plums from me.<\/p>\n
\nif ye find my beloveds, that ye tell them,
\nthat I am sick of hunger.<\/p>\n