Thom Gunn, "The Bed"

  The pulsing stops where time has been,
      The garden is snow-bound,
The branches weighed down and the paths filled in,
          Drifts quilt the ground.

  We lie soft-caught, still now it's done,
      Loose-twined across the bed
Like wrestling statues; but it still goes on
          Inside my head.

Thom Gunn, Jack Straw's Castle 1976), Collected Poems, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1994, p. 229.