erotic poetry

here falls no light
i am dying
sweet splendor
your body's motion is like music
as it
often is it not so?
glass-blower of time
my soul is a dark ploughed field
in their ragged regimentals
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
winged shadows sweeping by
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break