Hooped high above the crumbled grave's graces In my snowy crowsnest post, I see her crawl Small below, spot her telltale witching walk Untying the whorish knot in my boysome thighs-- Crimped bright by wishes to mix with the minxes And all their suitable goods that engorge my eyes Hanging out on their wires of want and haven't. There stray the ladies subtle as sphinxes, Wild as cats, mild as ministers. Whatever it was in their minds to be They became, promethean as the sprawling sea, Powerful as flowers, enticing as chives, The ladies into whose pirouetting lives I'd dive Aswim in swung loveliness of their milky knees. Oh good were the nights we walked and went In summer fun under a halfway moon Our jolly wild way through red azaleas; The bowing peaches plucked themeselves And rolled for the eating along our rice-white palms. My heart like a plum plumped for her eyes; We knew it was better to be merry than wise. I I In the undressing dark we were goddess and god And the sword dance we did was on all fours. Encephalitic clouds jigged to the moon's old score, Fiddler and fumbler among our human halves. I was stiffer than whiskey in the moon-blind night, My luminous eyes glued to her minxy moving, My wooed blood hissing to my doomed undoing. And there in a glamour of her giving-way My heart fell dumb-a-tumble down heaven's stairs All the way to love, to love, to love. Love's high knobbed hill reared where we paired, Love's blue sky leered bold washes of wishes; Love's landscape escarpments I could no more escape Than wine its musk crushed from the grape. Every tale of the town told love's trials And birds blended voices with her's awhile For never again came coo, cuckoo, or caw, Nor fluffed sheep's leap, nor seesaw creak, But there too cooed her harmonic law, Her swayed hips' riches in all daisies and faces, The bass chord thumbed of all times and places. Down in the town she abates the grave's fever, Blows cool the forehead of the mortal weather, Laying wreathes of ease on the dying griefs-- And with the outlined eyes of her pawing sex, Her Sheherezade fingerends cling to laughing cymbals, Until all the terrible trouble, thump, and taunt of life Rings tingling tamed to one thrum of love.