Floating poem

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 place 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 have been waiting years for you,
in my rose-wet cave.

Whatever happens... This is.


Adrienne Rich. 21 love poems.