She has set the table, and brought to perfection in her mind what her lover, seated opposite her, will answer softly in a little while, looking in her face. This food is like the reed of an oboe.
Under the table now, her naked ankles caress her lover’s warmth, while voices which she does not hear, compliment her. The beam of the lamp tangles, weaves her voluptuous distraction.
Far away a bed lies patient and trembling in the exile of its fragrant covers, like a mountain lake that will never be abandoned.
[JW]