to whose fierce kiss
the sensible world
throws back its head
and bares its neck
and cries

to whose slow touching
under stars whose
nowhere walking
arms around waists
whose starry eyes

whose whiskey lips
and staggering embrace
the sleeping world
stirs in its dreaming
and sighs.

To trailing you up
that long staircase
your skirt my hands
all up and down your thighs
my face in your hair
when you leaned to kiss me
first on every stair
then longer and more deeply
on every other one.

 ~
 

To the bad old  bleary days
the reeling world then
the blur our  being was
the grand carouse
of fleshy insistences
the pouring out of it
the rise roll spill
stream surge swell
and flood of it all
the deluge, the plunge
 

-- Bruce Taylor