Sex still draws us into your scattered fragments.
All your hot young lines with their smudged-out endings:
petal-tatters clinging to swaying bodies
pulsing flushed and pink with the tease’s power
holding all our heads under scented, cresting
oceans of aching.
from Mapless in Underland, Ginninderra Press, 2004
For the poetry geeks who might be interested, this poem is: