Christ you delight me,
Woolen scent of your sex,
Fury of your memory,
My hands still on the hilt
Of that excalibur of hip,
Blessed resurrection of thigh,
All these miles, ay!
Even now, as far away from you
As desert and mesa will allow,
Even now, under this welcome
Rain, yellow roses and honey-
Suckle vines, I have to hunker
My cunt close to the earth,
This little pendulum of mine
Ringing, ringing, ringing.