C.L.A.I.R.E.

He felt like a kid, the vigour

And the new,

When he heard her grave voice:

That sound and soul of eternal laughter; the ciggie-made 

Seeks and founds;

The before and 

The after in his life 

Since 

Bloomsday.

And as he felt like a kid, to his mind

Came a chant: the letters of

Her name were insanely beautiful, it’s true.

And he wanted to touch her in those ways he’d imagined, as if ownership

Over the buttons of explosion 

Were dual evermore, and would tumble them down to the

Flo[o]r of their bedroom, and roll over night[ie] and rock into sex, and those texts he so needed to exchange with her brain.

And then that ranging of fingers over dear cock and balls; and awfully cool stills and momentary hills of person and people and almost religious-like steeple; and those cunt-cupping palms; and the arms that would wrap themselves around our dear bodies, at no cost … 

… and if only you’d say yes, if only I could trespass.

And how I’d love to trespass on your body strong and

Long: how I’d love to trespass on 

Your six and your sex.

No temptation would I resist as I kissed

Your [most] inner thoughts; 

And made you cry out …

… out of sight of the others: just you and me

Transgressing so beautifully.

I do love you

C.

L.

A.

I.

R.

E. 

And I do love you more 

Than I do dare to

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