I swim in you, you in me until we drift down, slowly settling in anemone of pillowed hair, entangled leg and arm, beneath our tongues a dream of fruit, tide of sunlight inching over the dark planetary coast. — Roger Pfingston, from “Occasion,” Intimate Kisses: The Poetry of Sexual Pleasure, ed. Wendy Maltz (New World… Continue reading Roger Pfingston
You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life’s unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And… Continue reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox
ix nearer: breath of my breath: take not thy tingling limbs from me: make my pain their crazy meal letting thy tigers of smooth sweetness steal slowly in dumb blossoms of new mingling: deeper: blood of my blood: with upwardcringing swiftness plunge these leopards of white dream in the glad flesh of my fear: more… Continue reading E.E. Cummings
I desire her and I hate her. I would like to take her in my arms and embrace her till she smothered, till she was crushed and I could drink death from her gushing veins. — Octave Mirbeau, The Torture Garden. (Olympia Press; Revised Edition edition, August 28, 2005) Originally published 1899.
The Vale of Soul-Making 