love Is difficult when not reduced to pulses

And I would fall on him—and introduce
Him to a throat erupting—what a tongue
Could do. The waking we let each other
Do. I miss him, miss the murmur crooned
When all around us, the river nuzzles with moon-
Light the blue herons and crabs. Such advantages
To adoration—"to put the mouth to." Voluptuous
Touches—no one body or two—no one way to
Touch. Then would I be stuck in these embraces—
Afraid again—as if the world replaced
Itself with kisses and ran off. Love
Is difficult when not reduced to pulses
Sucking. A love awake, of words and hands—
How flesh meets flesh through rinds of what I am, I am.

[Judith Hall {1951- } 'XXVIII' from 'Her Plainsong' in To Put the Mouth To]