Now Karl Marx Is Watching Me Make Love

Touching the softly swelling tide of your breasts in this
forest,
&; haunted by the calls of the dog-walkers,
by the denizens of garden-centres,
&; the young couples with pushchairs,

I try to recall when,
walking in Highgate years ago,
I retraced Marx's steps
with Laenchen, Tussy, Laura and Fred,
as they walked up to Hampstead Heath.

My heart swelled then,
swells now,
as we lay down among the London gorse,
&; made love in the open air.

&; as you came,
straining above me,
gasping in sudden bursts,
calling out the word which made the act,
I saw old Karl looking on, smiling,
bearded, like a sage,
but praying

(bizarrely) for Laenchen to miscarry.