Of pleasure,

 
and the signals sent out from
the lighthouse of the hypothalamus:
of peptides and neurotransmitters
that regulate and release. 
You repeat, pleasure—everything 
from the silver of paper-
heart leaves to the wrought
filigree surrounding a tamburin; 
skin-sheen after exercise or sex;
the syllables mouths bubble
to go with please or delicious.
On craggy hillsides, 
even the goats nuzzle 
the grass they feed on: one 
thing is pleasure, the other is work
or a wage. Of horsehair 
woven around bright beads,
and at their ends a row
of brass cast little bells. 
Putting a necklace
back into its drawstring pouch,
you stop, trying to remember 
what saint or scent 
used to lie inside its glass-
walled reliquary. 

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