Epithalamium Revisited (poem)

When eye finds limbs impossibly lissome,
The blood beats to a speechless wish:
Sweet bells, this beatitude.

And yet word with word will intermingle,
Most artful twist of the act most sensual:
Sweet bells, this beatitude.


The blood beats to a speechless wish;
It sires some self beyond analysis:
Sweet bells, this beatitude. 

Most artful twist of the act most sensual,
Word turned to a touch far more tangible:
Sweet bells, this beatitude.

It sires some self beyond analysis,
A sweet amalgam, nor hers nor his:
O sweet bells, this beatitude.

Word turned to a touch far more tangible,
Our voices recline, our limbs entangle:
Sweet bells, this beatitude.

A sweet amalgam, nor hers nor his,
Two come to one, connubial bliss:
O sweet bells, this beatitude.

Our voices decline, limbs disentangle;
Heart beats more slowly, eyes would wander:
Sweet bells, this beatitude.

Two come to one?  Connubial bliss?
When eye finds limbs more freshly lissome--
O sweet bells, this beatitude.