A Transparent Summer Morning

How you settled your head athwart my hips, and gently turn’d over upon me,

And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,

And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

…

This is the press of a bashful hand—this is the float and odor of hair;

This is the touch of my lips to yours—this is the murmur of yearning;

This is the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face;

This is the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.