The Floating Poem, Unnumbered
-Adrienne Rich

Whatever happens with us, your body

will haunt mine - tender, delicate

your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond

of the fiddlehead fern in forests

just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs

between which my whole face has come and come -

the innocence and wisdom of the placee my tongue has found there -

the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth -

your touch on me, firm, protective, searching

me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers

reaching where I had been waiting years for you