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Penelope suggests a poem.


Penelope gives him a rose, complex

as the act, quartered, richly perfumed, magenta

petal crammed on velvet petal, centre

stamen-gold. Such old-fashioned, reflexed

blooms mean this to them: grande luxe, hotels

champagne, silk underwear and sheets, Chanel,

sensual extravagance. Leaves flex,

 

yielding to wind, as eyelashes or limbs

close shutters, turn back sheets, receive a lover

move in ecstasy. He will uncover

its secrets by revealing his, and hymns

afternoons of sex, evokes the scent

of Isle de France coquettes, of passion spent

on beds that stretch far beyond the world’s rim.