Leaves of Grass

love-flesh swelling

And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

gossip of flames,

do not press my fingers across my mouth, I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart, Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. I believe in the flesh and the appetites, Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am tou

(Know once for all, avow'd on purpose, wherever are men like me, are our lusty lurking masculine poems,)

The flush of the known universe is in him,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Eidolons