Love poem on theme by Whitman

I'll go into the bedroom silently and lie down between the bridegroom and the bride,

those bodies fallen from heaven stretched out waiting naked and restless,

arms resting over their eyes in the darkness,

bury my face in their shoulders and breasts, breathing their skin,

and stroke and kiss neck and mouth and make back be open and known,

legs raised up crook'd to receive, cock in the darkness driven tormented and attacking roused up from hole to itching head,

bodies locked shuddering naked, hot lips and buttocks screwed into each other

and eyes, eyes glinting and charming, widening into looks and abandon,

and moans of movement, voices, hands in air, hands between thighs,

hands in moisture on softened lips, throbbing contraction of bellies

till the white come flow in the swirling sheets,

and the bride cry for forgiveness, and the groom be covered with tears of passion and compassion,

and I rise up from the bed replenished with last intimate gestures and kisses of farewell —

all before the mind wakes, behind shades and closed doors in a darkened house

where the inhabitants roam unsatisfied in the night,

nude ghosts seeking each other out in the silence.

Allen Ginsberg