It’s always the quiet ones. Introverted Emily Dickinson led a solitary life in a 19th century Puritanical Massachusetts community — the kind of ascetic, lonely life that really knows true longing and yearning. Think of St. Teresa, the 14th century cloistered nun whose description of her ecstatic vision of God is hotter than most erotica. When spirituality is acceptable and sex isn’t, it’s no wonder the two start to look alike. And so you get something like Dickinson’s “Come slowly — Eden!” (1861), which on the surface is about the overwhelming joys of Paradise. But come on, Em, you’re not fooling anyone: The erotic tension of anticipation? The virgin lips tasting the sweetest thing for the first time? The phallic imagery of the bee entering the vulvar flower? The longing for release, but oh, not too quickly?! Don’t let anyone tell you Emily Dickinson was a prude.

Come slowly—Eden!
by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly—Eden!
Lips unused to Thee—
Bashful—sip thy Jessamines—
As the fainting Bee—

Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums—
Counts his nectars—
Enters—and is lost in Balms.

A little too coy for you?
Try Allen Ginsberg’s Ode to Serious Kink