Paolo
"O anime affanate, venite a noi parlar, s'altri nol niega!"
O battered souls, if One does not forbid it, speak with us!"
(Dante's Inferno, Canto 5)
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I feel her hands snap shut,
the feel of quaking steel.
No longer my own, her hips twist.
Her arms pull me into plummet.
My shoulders snarl against
the vapor stone of her palms.
My head stitched to her hollow chest.
I leave my words with you, Poeta.
I follow her in this, our waltz,
as the sulfur aches between us.
You might try here to leave the expected language of the Second Circle. Wouldn't we expect the sensual, even the melodramatic?
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