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What is this need: sex among the ruins?

We kissed in the remains of a school-house


by the gray marsh reeds, while the ghosts of nuns

ached and dead things crept in the weeds. Your blouse


undone, skirt on the floor. Slowly we bent

over a desk top with fingers at work:


stretching, coaxing, melting down walls our scent

mixed with willow, dust, sumac. With a jerk


you came, shouted, ¡Lilith!” wild with tonguing.

Just then all that the dead and chaste abhor


we became. Let ruins of grace that fuel

lust be a blessing. Let ghosts mark our coming


with sex stains gracing their world: warped floor,

battered seat and jack-knife carved initial.