Lips On Skin Mmclxxi Poem by Terry Collett

From my cell window
the cloister garth
could be seen
the clock chiming
each quarter of an hour,

campana sonus
est vox Domini,

Dom Charles instructing
on apple picking
how to do and not to do,

George hoovering
the cloister
we used big brooms once
Hugh said dust
everywhere even using
sawdust and water,

she was naked
and we made love
on her sofa,

Dio parla nel lavoro
the Italian monk said
as I clipped the high hedge
by the church,

sing with silvery voice
the canticle of love
Therese said
(saint that is) ,

I tolled the big bell
for the Angelus
as shown by Dom James
last time,

Dieu est ici dans
votre cœur
the French monk
told me tapping his chest
as we stood in the cloister
waiting for Vespers,

she knelt down
and said take me wildly
so I did,

the impudence
of the sinner said Bernard(Saint)
displeases God
as much as the modesty
of the penitent
gives him pleasure,

I fingered the feet
of the Crucified
on the wall in my room
disturbing the dust,

hören Gott
the Austrian monk said
den er hört,

true happiness is to enjoy
the present without
anxious dependence
upon the future
said Gareth quoting Seneca
as we sat
in the refectory
before the abbot came in,

I kissed each
part of her
my lips
on her skin.