The bed groans
as we moan

(there is a whole lotta
shakin' goin' on)

& now our books
half read...almost read
(one only just begun)

perched pecariously
perielously
above us

feel moved
to join us

in an orgiastic feast

& my head is assailed
by a HISTORY OF COLOUR


THE GIRL WHO PLAYED WITH FIRE
comes to rest neatly on my pert posterior

attacked by our own
private library

bured under an avalache
of reading material.

From one tome
a cut-out instruction

(yellowing now with age)

insists we must

make a circle
out of a man & woman.

Our laughter
squaring the circle.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/making-a-circle-out-of-a-man-woman-2/