A thorny ladder wraps the mountain
As I stride to attend your musky rose;
I come for your body’s garden, mossy and open:
Of your musky skin, I breath the rose.
I climb the ladder as I climb you, daily
Heaving my weight up toward your unconquerable eyes,–
My heavy regrets, my dank past, my disguises.
Hurrying, I plunge into the thorns. Ai!
Suddenly, the angry angel’s red-hot rapier is everywhere,
Hissing into my neck, my lungs, my sides,
Lancing the blue coil of my intestines.
Will loving you and climbing you leave me dying?
From the highest rock you bend, dusky rose;
I attend your soft musk’s music, and I arise.