Interiors

In a furnished room on Quai d'Orsay
the sun glints on our brass bed,
where spread, unclothed and hungry
I stroke your auburn head.

Late afternoon we skirt the Seine
touch hands in a dark café,
grow fat on cake and fragrant tea
carried from old Cathay.

At night this city gathers speed
beneath its map of stars,
as we tangle limbs like dancers
in the painting by Degas.