#unbosoming

The Unbosoming 

I have been a day boarder, Lord. I have preferred the table to the Bed. I have proffered, Lord, and I have profited, Lord, but little, but not. I was Bored, Lord, I was heavy, Lord. Heavy bored. Hopeless, Lord, hideous, Lord. Sexless. I was in love, Lord, but not with You. The nine malic moulds, Lord. The butcher, the baker, the under-taker. Lord, I was taken under. I Repeat Myself, Lord. I re-peat myself as the way back, the way back to Myself, Lord. I have trembled, Lord. His face, Lord, and Yours. I am unlovely, Lord, I am Not precious, Lord. Spy better, Love, and You will see: I am nothing. I have Seen How lovely, Lord, how lovely You are, Lord, but I refused to kneel. I Refuse To knell Your loveliness. I refuse to kiss. And I refuse to tell. I am unwilling, Love. I am unwell. Unkempt. My hideous loins, Love. My body, which is all Wrack And screw, Love. All slack and crewel. At Your beck and call, Love, at His Beck And call. Crestfallen, Love. Of the fallen breast. Un-clean of eye. Loose of Thigh. Ridiculous, Love. Most serious, Love. Unshod. Unshriven. In vain and in Rain, Love. I live and I Wire. I Wive, Lord, but I Fathom Not.

The love that breeds In my heart for thee! As the iris is full, brimful of seeds, And all that it flowered for among the reeds Is packed in a thousand vermilion-beads That push, and riot, and squeeze, and clip, Till they burst the sides of the silver scrip, And at last we see What the bloom, with its tremulous, bowery fold Of zephyr-petal at heart did hold: So my breast is rent With the burthen and strain of its great content; For the summer of fragrance and sighs is dead, the harvest-secret is burning red, And I would give thee, after my kind, The final issues of heart and mind.