proxy, by r. erica doyle, is an amazing poetry book, a sort of long poem exploring erotic relations and tensions between the self and desired. The language is incredibly raw and alive and beautiful -- short prose pieces that each glimmer on their own and create a deep, dazzling whole.
Here is an example:
Everything is a terrible color.
Gather in her breasts like sails. Like nets and draw deep, The hand pumps between. A link to turning inside out.
All the displaced lust in the world would not pacify this quest. The fist in the center of your chest is turning. Everything behind is wet and begging. Your ears pop in the tunnel. Fragrances of sound emerge dully. Postulate, postulate, gratiating consciousness. Around the fist the scar tissue thickens. You were born with that wound. It's getting deeper.