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.