Ok here goes. (it's from a love book of poems)
Quote:
Entry May 25
All right, sulk. But as you sit, soo...knees high-
the wild, spiral feathers accentuating the meeting of your thighs,
like dark grass grown in too rich a soil -
you are beautifully eloquent.
Or when your gown loosens,
falls off the small fierce faces of your breasts, as the cowl falls off
the face of a hunter's falcon...I attend, nerve-naked.
I memorize you...walking as if to music. Your dress lies against the cheecks and hollow of your thighs like running water.
Your breast nod yes each step,
your slow involute hips cradle the eternal synonym for God.
The dress censors not a syllable of you.
Articulate eyes wink from your breast and belly, signal from your throat-
beckon from your knees, your waist...your mobile shoulders.
Yes, your body makes eyes at me from every salient,
promises warm, lavish promises-
curved, colored...finished in warm velet, like baby rabbits.
All right, sulk. But as you sit, soo...knees high-
the wild, spiral feathers accentuating the meeting of your thighs,
like dark grass grown in too rich a soil -
you are beautifully eloquent.
Or when your gown loosens,
falls off the small fierce faces of your breasts, as the cowl falls off
the face of a hunter's falcon...I attend, nerve-naked.
I memorize you...walking as if to music. Your dress lies against the cheecks and hollow of your thighs like running water.
Your breast nod yes each step,
your slow involute hips cradle the eternal synonym for God.
The dress censors not a syllable of you.
Articulate eyes wink from your breast and belly, signal from your throat-
beckon from your knees, your waist...your mobile shoulders.
Yes, your body makes eyes at me from every salient,
promises warm, lavish promises-
curved, colored...finished in warm velet, like baby rabbits.
Quote:
Entry October 15
Everyone is sleeping. Nothing wakes. The woods
are motionless. The wind is down to a whisper.
Sleep hums like current - yes, audibly - through the bright steel night.
The evening star rises like a flaming wick.
Hills fit into hills like lovers, their great dark straddling thighs
clasping still greater darkness where they meet. A star breaks,
arcs down the night - like God striking a match across the cathedral ceiling.
Therefore I wish: see my lips move-making your name. It is so still,
so still. I am sure that you must hear me -
Everyone is sleeping. Nothing wakes. The woods
are motionless. The wind is down to a whisper.
Sleep hums like current - yes, audibly - through the bright steel night.
The evening star rises like a flaming wick.
Hills fit into hills like lovers, their great dark straddling thighs
clasping still greater darkness where they meet. A star breaks,
arcs down the night - like God striking a match across the cathedral ceiling.
Therefore I wish: see my lips move-making your name. It is so still,
so still. I am sure that you must hear me -
