The white tree

Hung down over the churchyard

The churchyard was the porch

The white was from the snow

The grave was the circle

How beautiful!

The way it blooms

red juice dripping from

ripened fruit:

her eyes, black velvet

silver on her nails

a mouth that curls

when it says my name.

What desire! I inhale her mind

*lines in italics are from Jane Eyre

Are you apprehensive of the new sphere you are about to enter?

Because I fear

For the warm skin