Classic Poem

my strength becoming wistful in a glib

girl i consider her as a leaf
thinks
of the sky, my mind takes to nib
-bling, of her posture. (As an eye winks).
and almost i refrain from jumbling her
flesh whose casual mouth's coy rooting
dies also. (my loveFist in her knuckling

thighs,
with a sharp indecent stir
uncienches
Into fingers....she too is tired.
Not of me. The eyes which biggish loll

the hands will tumbling into shall

—and Love's a coach with gilt hopeless wheels mired
where sits rigidly her body's doll
gay exactly perishing sexual,