Colette, Colette,
How’d your hair get so wet?
You’re a mummy in a wheelchair,
under a gypsy sunset.
Your jeweled eyes and stardust grin,
speaking Parisian hymns.
Dark leaves in the river swim,
against your Egyptian skin.

Pearls on your neck, bracelets on your wrist,
Your portrait comes to me like mist,
Your hair filled with Spanish broom,
As you bring light to my chamber room.

Edna, my sweet,
My beautiful sin,
That rose in your hair,
Stuck by the pin.
Under apple blossoms, mountains wide,
I see your dark eyes hide in luminous skies,
Please speak your mind.

I’ll follow you under midnight pine,
There’s no cursed thorns along the vine,
You, strong like a thistle under the moon,
Bringing light to my chamber room.

Children cry for mothers and for peace,
while Atlas’ tears fill the streets.
But you’ve got angel sighs,
Your white arms and ivory thighs,
Your lavish laurel lover’s hair,
And your Daphne eyes,
You’re like a hummingbird about to fly.

You’re stopping time,
Psychic soul like lime,
Watching flowers in your heart bloom,
We make love in this chamber room.

Pockets full stone, the poet returns home,
A heart filled with bliss,
Longing for the sweet kiss
of your Aeolian lips.
He knows you’re beautiful
like a Grecian urn,
and all new lands with realms of gold
will never burn.

We listened to the nightingale’s song,
under trees near our river-home,
Stars falling from the sky’s cocoon,
Love brought us sleep to our chamber room.