Eros offers an antidote to ironic distance
                                                Tony Hoagland

Our social isolation
Words gone to waste in a lingual quarantine
You arrest my readting of NYT
Draw back the blind for light
Put your face an inch from mine
To deliver the fury of your salutation:
It’s June
Step on the pedal of language
Valves knocking pistons rattling
Pharses of sibilant
Sex slinging us forward 
To an ecstatic state of over-heaved
Release.  Please PLEASE fling open
The door to the spores of fun
Be the knight who holds up a forbidden
Fungus for me to inspect
Its sensuous fluted stem its bulbous head
That tickles the rooted part of me
The part of me that grows down
Into the dirt of the earth.
Please bring the blade of your tongue
To the roof of  your mouth and blow
Blow me
Away with your twisted syllables