Jack E Miller
Shall we move as smoothly as fingers, gliding in scented oil,
Down each others spine, from touch to words?
What idea shall we share, what repast
Eat, what warm stimulant sip, what game of words
Play, unless the letters we choose spell out
The intimacy of the substance spilled upon each other?
Our words cannot come only from the language of thought;
They must arise from the inmost tissue of desire, surrender.