—as in, pre-flutter, that kingdom of semi-purpleness— should I
say dome of— that area of anti-limp, lawless, drunk on your
fingering, unfingering— that omnivore, oh, eating now your—
even your branches, iceless, anti frozen, gazelle flying toward the
twin kingdoms of your cheekness (more at “flying buttress”),
nearly periwinkling now— that perpetrator of the semi-grunt,
grunt, instigator of the groanful demi-flood of— flutter, flutter,
post-flutter— gorge of neomauve, rich canal of sunsetish plush,
now unguardedly sub-fuschia; that private brandied eyelash
batting at you in its brashest postcool queenness, plump and
succulent as a plum—
—-The Best American Erotic Poems: From 1800 to the Present, 2008
drunken library 