The exceptional purity and delicacy
of the path—the tender strokes of the hand
insisting on it and moving inward
as she turns herself around
and breathes deep, singing at a tone
and volume beyond sense
while utterly comprehending
size and weight of each breast
in my hand, hips pushing
hips pushing and hands
moving up and down slender
limbs, pausing where they meet
the body, where deep
emotion rises and thickens ordinary
movement, moist and warm.