“If I were a cinnamon peelerI would ride your bedand leave the yellow bark duston your pillow.Your breasts and shoulders would reekyou could never walk through marketswithout the profession of my fingersfloating over you. The blind wouldstumble certain of whom they approachedthough you might batheunder rain gutters, monsoon.Here on the upper thighat this smooth pastureneighbor to your hairor the creasethat cuts your back. This ankle.You will be known among strangersas the cinnamon peeler's wife.I could hardly glance at youbefore marriagenever touch you-- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.I buried my handsin saffron, disguised themover smoking tar,helped the honey gatherers...When we swam onceI touched you in waterand our bodies remained free,you could hold me and be blind of smell.You climbed the bank and saidthis is how you touch other women the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.And you searched your armsfor the missing perfume.and knew what good is it to be the lime burner's daughterleft with no traceas if not spoken to in an act of loveas if wounded without the pleasure of scar.You touchedyour belly to my handsin the dry air and saidI am the cinnamonpeeler's wife. Smell me.”

“This is my heart. You are touching it with your left hand. You are touching it with your left hand, not because you are left-handed, although you might be, but because I am holding it against my heart. What you are feeling is the beating of my heart. It is what keeps me alive.”

“Nothing will ever touch us. You are all that matters to me, my angel, and I would walk through hell just to touch your face.”

“I've never thought of you like that,' said Christopher. 'How could I? If you were any other woman, I could tell you I loved you, easily enough, but not you-- because you've always seemed to me like a part of myself, and it would be like saying I loved my own eyes or my own mind. But have you ever thought of what it would be to have to live without your mind or your eyes, Kate? To be mad? Or blind?”

“I’m manacled to the bed. When the house is quiet and even the cat is asleep, you could come down the stairs and make love to me.”“Don’t be ridiculous. You would never let me—”“But I would. I’d let you take the lead, explore me as you liked, show me what gives you pleasure. I would kiss you anywhere you instructed—on your lips, on your breasts, on your—”“My lord, please!”“—shoulders. Really, Amy, what did you think I was going to say?”

“I want to be your wife, your lover, your mate for life. I want to feel you inside me, to be one with you, to bear your children, to possess you as you possess me, to touch you as often as I wish, and to feel you quicken in my grasp. I need you... most desperately.”