John Donne: Mistress

He treads with gentle footsteps on the stairwell;
one resounding creak could raise my father's ire.
He enters. In his eyes I see the fire
that's only quenched by the morning bell.
He removes his boots, breeches, doublet and hose
before my girdle slithers to the floor.
It's then I turn sideways, for he pores
upon my nakedness, as if his nose
is a cartographer's pressed against a map.
Enraptured I watch him burn with cold
and tremble as my breasts ease from their moulds.
Unloose my cadence of hair and wrap
my flesh in linen. For decorum's sake
I let him think it's me he takes.


Ray Givans

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