Love (8)

Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing,
Where I may feel the throbs of your heart, or rest upon your hip,
Carry me when you go forth over land or sea;
For thus, merely touching you, is enough-is best,
And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be carried
eternally.

Walt Whitman, fragment of Whoever You Are, Holding Me Now In Hand, the USA, around 1860

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