To His Mistress
by Robert Wynne


- after John Donne


Come to me tonight, for I cannot sleep
at all until we do the work we do.
Please release heaven from its girdle, strewn
beauty beneath. Remove your shirt, such steep
hills for my eyes exercise. Put your gown
at the foot of the bed, and from your head
unpin the flowery wreath to which you’ve wed
your halo’s hair. And let each shoe stare down
this paradise without foot’s embrace. Come
to me naked, that I may discover
you new. Let my tongue, my hands recover
the truth at your center: lost maps, gems, some
great book which proclaims you need nothing more
than a naked man — his body, your door.






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