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The Skirt Guillaume Apollinaire - France
Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine
Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving My hands press down upon your willing haunches
Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches
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