Sarah’s Reviews > Intimate Kisses: The Poetry of Sexual Pleasure > Status Update

Far off, as if in a dream,
echoed the words of the poet—
What is it that matters?
What is it that lasts?

What consumes him now is the myth of lovers
long at it. Desire as it lives close to the light.
How after swimming in the late afternoon
as he dried her back she turned to him
stunned by her need, him again
surprised when he entered her, still
carefully searching the map of her,
both of them seeking a perfection they know
doesn't exist but insisting like all lovers
again and again on its possibility.

An orange on the table
Your dress on the rug
And you in my bed
Sweet present of the present
Cool of night
Warmth of my life.

I have been hours awake looking at you 
 lithely at rest in the free
natural way rivers bend and clouds shape. 

 
I give you my tongue, 
and the word it has for you, 
and the pleasure it has for you 
as I speak silently 
to your body, 
as I speak along the arc of your breast, 
 through the cadence of your ribs, 
 over the plain of your belly 
and into the warm rain between your thighs, 
into you. 

And I would be the moon

spoken over your beckoning flesh

breaking against reservations
beaching thought
my hands at your high tide

over and under inside you

and the passing of hungers
attended, forgotten. 



Darkly risen
the moon speaks
my eyes
judging your roundness
delightful.

Audre Lorde


I want to love you with every piece of this body:
I want these strong and simple hands to divine

each delicate sound inside of you; I want
these faithful legs to gallop at midnight

through the sleeping orchards of your heart;

I want these eyes, these singing eyes

that have survived the brutal clocks, the days

lost in daily space, to blossom in some high bed

of human heaven