William Blake - Satan before the fall.
A SLIGHT BREATHING
Hovering over the words,
Herding them, moving them
Into small groups. Full of meaning.
Here, the description of the heavens
Staggers forward, dragging
Its collection of constellations
Behind it; fully aware
That these pictures are but part
Of light seen from a single
Place, struggling to maintain
Themselves as the heavens
Reel around them.
These, are the words of lovers.
There is no end to them.
They slide and describe,
Word after word, the varieties of touch;
Definite descriptions, of flesh
Meeting flesh, in all temperatures and climates.
Gratefully, we follow these things,
Charmed that language
Allows us such rooms,
Such variety of discourse.
From the dark hills comes
The coughing of lions,
Calls of birds. William
Blake, moving room to room
Searching for the right phrase.