poetry is the throes

my poetry 

has no rhyme

'tho not from a lacking

but because

lovers

don't rhyme

they enfold

and are absorbed

into passion

with no

reason

but because they want

they suckle

and invade

and kiss

words do

and they are

love-makers in poems

messy things

full of

the dark drive

pulled by

a haunt

toward answers

lovers

seek to know

a certain feeling

so do words

when they

have coitus

they search

for the thing

that is the exposed truth

words in poems

are a breast

against breast

lips to nipple

fingers braving

flesh rising

this poet

writes to

make love

and a word-collision

in a poem

should shock

electrically

as if hearing cock

in a foreign language

for the 

first 

time

such as portuguese

or french

or italian

giving you

rise

and sublime 

satisfaction

that something

has been reached

i want you

to be lovers

when you read

my poetry

with words

that ripple

and find

each other

in violent love

go away thereafter

satisfied

and buzzing