The exalted language that you say I use
To depict a slight in universal hues
Has left me breath enough, I think, to say—

No, I can't. I can't employ a display
Of words like balloons in rattling flatulence
Going flat, create the showy elements
That pristine nature surely serves you up—
So I suck all that back in and both lungs cup
Up air, alveoli bulging brimful, my sides
Expanding wide as blue balloons-which divides
The frothing pace engendered two by two, so
In primal sexual lather I let it blow,
Stem squealing, rounded cheeks going gray-blue
And wheeze out two overused words: Love! You!