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!


© Whale 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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I liked this very much I’ve read it several times and given it a lot of thought but each time I read I trip up on the line ‘circles oh so soft…’ It doesn’t flow as well the rest, also the line ‘circles that fail to recall…’ that too seems to do the same,there seems to be one too many words in each maybe if you changed or removed a word in each the flow wouldn’t be suddenly stopped.
Just my thoughts please ignore if you don’t agree, it’s still a very nice poem. Sue.


Sorry I meant to put ‘silk’ not circles. Sue.


I appreciate you taking my ideas on board, the whole poem was a pleasure to read and it seemed a shame that such a small detail should get in the way of such a lovely rhythm. Sue.

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