Circles that flash with pleasures of fire,
Fire that shoots to bowels and brain;
Circles of soft and slippery pleasure,
Circles that fill and circles that drain.
Circles touching with sinewy softness,
Softness as hard as ramrod or stake;
Circles that sweep to planet’ry heavens,
Circles to dream as if never to wake.
Circles as soft as the touch of fine silk,
Silk fine and smooth as the slimmest of sheaths;
Circles a-swirl with wondrous tingles,
Circles that fail to remember one breathes.
Circles that drown in riotous colours,
Colours in combat, in glorious strife;
Circles cry out the meaning of loving,
Circles in death, exploding to life!