Body of ocean, milk and sky,
We are tangled in the hope of night.
The lips of the milky way, creaming us,
Stains and is **** with a taste keening;
All is creation.  My meteors crash
Into your ruptured Earth.  I flame
Upon your must and moisted furrows
And my toes are locked, rooted in yours.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
In the deserts of the day you are true
Oasis.  The curves and waft of your sands
Seethe and sodden my barren plains,
Are erasing all my wandering memories
Of an endless sky and now your eyes
Are the only stars I know, and your skin;
A sheet that holds the heavens shimmering.

Body of ocean, milk and sky,
Your ******* are the heaving of grasses
And wind, loft and laden in the rounded
Hills, a hoard of ****** bread, bountiful,
Ripe and strange.  Your hair is an endless
Savannah, your valleys are gold and honeyed
With milk, seared, filled by my penetrating sun.
In passion we play; low on earth and deep in sky.

.
Fingers have eyes—
To touch as a painter touches
After he has painted, I see you
As a blind man sees the sun
With skin that reaches
Into the lighted air,
My kisses sparkle out—
Take flights in the long flashes,
The startled flocks of white birds,
My fingers have sleepy eyes
Longing to know you, to be
On the clean, blue, mystic slates
Of the rapt and printed skies,
The stars with their eyes,
Blinking in and out in arousal,
How your voice envelopes
Me as I drown in murmur,
How your body unclothes
My soul, dreaming within
Dream.  Where, when,
Do you come from?
Take me  .  .  .

I was covered in gasoline
And with the ghost of a smirk playing on on your lips,
You dropped a lit match and set me aflame.

Thick black smoke swallowed me whole
And I felt your fingers dancing across my skin,
searing a path across my body.
I can't see the difference between pain and ecstasy,
(maybe there isn't one at all)
But I can't think of a more violent ecstasy
Or a more pleasurable pain than you--
the beginning to my end.

All that's left to you now is cinder, ash,
And a whispered "I think I love you..."

The ecstasy
exploded
within her.
She wanted to laugh,
to cry,
to scream out loud
At this perfect moment
of ******;
she was whole,
she was alive—
It no longer mattered
If her eyes were
open
or
closed.

O the sorrows we ourselves do make,
Burnished in a flowery eye,
Airy thoughts compounding in flight,
Such as faulty newborn words,
Misremembered in a song.

O how in youth we do in this conspire,                                                        ­
With hairs and vows to bend sparkle,
The first meetings of misty lovers,
Pursed by vacant lots under moon,
With white hearts beating down.

In early spring there are jewels in the eyes
And skins of gold that cover the soul,
Fabrics of light and treasures of gem,
Every day bold promise renewed
And the sun rejoices in truth.

How simple wishes are purely squandered,    
By the very doings we make done,
As time breaks forever leaving,
Such sorrows we ourselves do take,
For keepsakes boxed in tin.

O the sorrows we ourselves do make,
Burnished in a flowery eye,
Airy thoughts compounding in flight,
Such as faulty newborn words,
Misremembered in a song.

O how in youth we do in this conspire,
With hairs and vows to bend sparkle,
The first meetings of misty lovers,
Pursed by vacant lots under moon,
With white hearts beating down.

In early spring there are jewels in the eyes
And skins of gold that cover the soul,
Fabrics of light and treasures of gem,
Every day bold promise renewed
And the sun rejoices in truth.

How simple wishes are purely squandered,    
By the very doings we make done,
As time breaks forever leaving,
Such sorrows we ourselves do take,
For keepsakes boxed in tin.