(December 22, 1905 – June 6, 1982 / South Bend, Indiana)

Confusion of the Senses

Moonlight fills the laurels
Like music. The moonlit
Air does not move. Your white
Face moves towards my face.
Voluptuous sorrow
Holds us like a cobweb
Like a song, a perfume, the moonlight.
Your hair falls and holds our faces.
Your lips curl into mine.
Your tongue enters my mouth.
A bat flies through the moonlight.
The moonlight fills your eyes
They have neither iris nor pupil
They are only globes of cold fire
Like the deers' eyes that go by us
Through the empty forest.
Your slender body quivers
And smells of seaweed.
We lie together listening
To each other breathing in the moonlight.
Do you hear? We are breathing. We are alive.

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Roald Dahl

Television

Comments (1)

Your hair falls and holds our faces-gorgeous. To me success is the ability to be present and this poem and this movement encapsulates a lot of my ideals