The Act Of Love
Circles that flash with pleasures of fire,
Fire that shoots to bowels and brain;
Circles of soft and slippery pleasure,
Circles that fill and circles that drain.
Circles touching with sinewy softness,
Softness as hard as ramrod or stake;
Circles that sweep to planet’ry heavens,
Circles to dream as if never to wake.
Circles as smooth to the touch as fine silk;
Silk velvet soft as the slimmest of sheaths;
Circles a-swirl with sensational tingles;
Circles that fail to remember one breathes.
Circles that drown in riotous colours,
Colours in combat, in glorious strife;
Circles cry out the meaning of loving,
Circles in death, exploding to life!