Lady

Lady
I will grab you by your nocturnals
and spin you on your hind Somethings
(putting my hand gently up
the unfurling swirling delicious)
and inside the library of your valley
I shall read like reading was meant to be done:
quickly, breathlessly, with a fervor for a moistened moment
upon the glinting bay of your skin;
then, putting you down
(while lifting me up)
I will race with my hands (like a hundred
crawling tulips) to the spot which rests
(crescendo) a shade shy of paradise,
south of your mortared heart.

And I will trace its painful shape
with the tip of my tongue
until daylight breaks
through my solitary window.