I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me. You sweaty brooks and dews it shall be you! Where are you off to, lady? Sample Updates on Sexually Correct Spartacus: I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. Sun so generous it shall be you! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed. Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown. Through me the afflatus surging and surging, through me the current and index. O unspeakable passionate love. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Margot Stilley Here we go again I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.