For some strange reason, I have had the line "I warm her pearls" keep coming into my head over the past few days. It, of course, has taken me to the very well-known (at least here in the UK!) and accomplished poem by our new Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, so I freely acknowledge that this work is "tipping my hat" to hers. :)) xx

PEARLS


Their greying noose about my neck:
my Mistress’s pearls she bids me warm –

sullen moons and burned-out
stars obsolete of glory, cold
as her glacial heart.

Her own plump throat they choke,
tight as the conjugal band
which bites fleshiness of finger.

It’s I who own their heat,
I who supplement her lack,

heed milky stains and smooth
to silk the roughness of cold sheets,
the warmth of my slender body
alone filling the Master’s bed.

Her funereal heartwood’s ebony,
mine living as the rosewood
in which her beads are laid to rest.

She is all red berry of rage,
sleek barb of polished holly;

I am dulled-white mistletoe,
mute joy of mulled wine and
sustaining, cloying sweetmeats
for bone-chilled, weary days.

I the Master’s Christmas,
his gift free-given, soft-ploughed
and handsomely yielded
from her frozen, stony ground;

I her worthless treasure and
his pearl of great price.