Dreams do come true, but only whenThey make it through despair,Limping into everydayTransformed beyond repair. No dream would be a dream if itCould pass for something real,Nor would we sail for paradiseWould it its shoals conceal. So it is with love: the dreamLong longed for, now possessed,Must be a dream no longer, butAn emperor undressed. Stark naked it must come to usIn unaccustomed shame,And we must take it in our armsAnd love it all the same. And we must love love as it isThat dreams might still come true,Mangled into miraclesTo make our lives anew.Love comes through the eyes that seeAnd through the ears that hear,For people are quite beautiful,And words make feelings clear. Love comes through the hands that touchWith unabashed affection,For only skin-to-skin can loveMaintain its true direction. Love comes through the tastes and smellsOf fresh and well-cooked food,For in the gift of nourishmentIs much else that is good. But though love comes through senses five,Love comes from the heart,For there resides the greater loveOf which ours is a part.Shameless.‘…in the short summer night she learnt so much. She would have thought a woman would have died of shame. Instead of which, the shame died. Shame, which is fear: the deep organic shame, the old, old physical fear which crouches in the bodily roots of us, and can only be chased away by the sensual fire, at last it was roused up and routed by the phallic hunt of the man, and she came to the very heart of the jungle of herself. She felt, now, she had come to the real bedrock of her nature, and was essentially shameless. She was her sensual self, naked and unashamed. She felt a triumph, almost a vainglory. So! That was how it was! That was life! That was how oneself really was! There was nothing left to disguise or be ashamed of. She shared her ultimate nakedness with a man, another human being. And what a reckless devil the man was! Really like a devil! One had to be strong to bear him. But it took some getting at, the core of the physical jungle, the last and deepest recess of organic shame. The phallus alone could explore it. And how he had pressed in on her! And how, in fear, she had hated it. But how she had really wanted it! She knew now. At the bottom of her soul, fundamentally, she had needed this phallic hunting out, she had secretly wanted it, and she had believed that she would never get it. Now suddenly there it was, and a man was sharing her last and final nakedness, she was shameless. What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think women wanted sentiment. When what women supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality. To find someone …who dared to do it, without shame or sin or final misgiving! ……. shamelesslyashot36 onyahoo...if you want :) ...Michael