if you're confused about whether or not you like poetry,
if you're confused about the ways in which words can take those beautiful petulant things in our lives that we often forget how to bend into the fantastic,
if you've forgotten what a love letter might sound like if you didn't find words so clumsy for translating thoughts,
then read this out loud
and celebrate every word
like a love dance
up through the throat
across the tongue
brush against those lips--

"This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
it attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yeilding of day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day."
--Walt Whitman, from "I Sing the Body Electric"