Us married—him, he married me—he parted maidenhood’s shocked mouth, in a nest of gin-bottles, and tatted gin-labels, crushed berries, upturned desk chairs, flagrant sheets (and quilts—oh, careful). Suddenly he pulled at himself, to reveal pure streaks—with which he laved all the eddies of my hair—he set little fires in my hind which spread to my toes and shoulder-tops. To be married, a rough standing embrace—being a mess of mouth and beard—being a mess of muscle, and set to constrict. We clutched, standing straight-spine, then caduceus’d, and again caduceus’d on our sides...all the matter in the room blew away in our kisses...bare walls, a circle of dust and aluminum nubs.
-2003
