She put her hair up,
All night I imagined its fall,                                                                                    
  .  .  .  Breathlessly waiting.

Blood rushing in my ears,
All my fears are
Gone.
Gone in an instant of ecstatic grief
A relief
That can come to me only from you.
You with your arms around me and your charms surrounding,
Turned all the way
On.
On the wings of a kiss
That drastic bliss,
I'm finally
Gone.

Round of twin *******,
Circle thighs, hips, moon bottoms,                                                                        
  .  .  .  The round of my palms.

Delicious is a word I save for you.
Chocolate comes close but feeds me only
Famine.  Your skin is blest three times,
Once for new redolence.  Bay leaved
To the core, you proffer memories
Which chamber the years in round rooms,
Opening freely into rouge galleries
Of spice.  Secondly, it is soft as summer
Water.  It draws itself toward touch
Like ripples skipping over a sweating pond,
Lapping its way towards the creamy shore.
The third gift of your skin is the colour
Of desired destination, an instrument
Which maps the mirror of a universe,
Because you are deckled with stars so heady,
You are wet smoke from drooling galaxies
And rose white fathoms of sky, they are pooling,
And pulling me with force so fulsome
As to be almost—
Tasteless.

                 The firm green bread of spring,
The blue blood of heaven and the milky
Sun, these are your flavours all intermingled,
And three piquant senses speak to my tongue;
I smell, I touch, I taste— you are,
Delicious.

First meet of hunger  .  .  .
Eyes gorged on each in banquet,                                                         ­           
  .  .  .  Tasting without touch.

Eyes of tigress look—
Her gentle ways gone at night,                                                          
  .  .  .  Sacred and profane.