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The well-taken photographs-but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms?
I am satisfied-I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall.How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and.This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.Why should I wish to see God better than this day?The young mechanic is closest to me, he knows me well, The woodman that takes his axe and jug with him shall take me with him all day, The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my voice, In vessels that.Who will soonest be through with his supper?What blurt is this about virtue and about vice?
You are not guilty to me, nor stale nor discarded, I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether or no, And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away.
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
Winds whose soft-tickling genitals rub against me it shall be you!
Becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.
My lovers suffocate me, Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls, coming naked to me at night, Crying by day, Ahoy!And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.The soldier camp'd or upon the march is mine, On the night ere the pending battle many seek me, and I do not fail them, On that solemn night (it may be their last) those that know me seek.39 The friendly and flowing savage, who is he?Breast that presses against other breasts it shall be you!