a mist of wanting

she wore a blue gown for him once
the fabric flowing with her curves
only the hair of long black eyelashes
flashing naked for his eyes:
a mist of wanting gathered
a black-ice loneliness between them:
she loosened the blue gown
and lay bare before him
a smooth miracle of dawn
a silent shingle of lights--
so they hid themselves
in a winding sheet of passion
in a little hut of shaken walls

she wore a black satin gown for him once
the flow of her hips a poem of night
moving in a dusk of her long eyelashes
standing they held a greeting kiss
murmured of the ritual to come
she lay waiting for him
lifting the black satin

gleaming over a white navel
she drew him with familiar sheaths
they lay in a room of blood-rose shadows
hearing many clocks in a music of bronze
in flesh tones of a cool vesper twilight
slowly they moved into storm and drums
into a whirl of changing light-spokes
her white torso lost in satin shadows
sank in a moan of white blossoms
in a falling sheen of black moonlight.

[Carl Sandburg, 'In Blue Gown and in Black Satin Gown']