How it fills!
That shapely, well-lettered word-
Tongue but forms itself upon it
And all about me rousts in imagination.
Love! O tiny swear of cream
Tall and titled, come out of me
My eyelashes, mouth, and knees all feel it
It rising up from under
Pull and bellow in the earshot
Drifts as a pool of air, balmy smoke
Yet I alone can hear it
Strung and short, it wafts a potent lap around me
Hanging, my head in a banal sink.