What scent marks your neck
That never ceases to enchant?
Is it me or that gris gris
That smells so fragrant?
I see you lingering on my lawn.
Come in and throw down your coat.
I'll wash your feet with the finest oils --
Brow, bosom, and torso.
If matrimony is our fall,
Then we'll suffer each other to be free,
Yet mesmerized by a native call;
Impermanent and imperfect are we.
More than time separates us now.
Do I look pure on my pyre?
Do my eyes reflect
The heart of the fire?
