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.