Under Milk Wood. Dylan Thomas.

>From where you are, you can hear, in Cockle Row in the spring, moonless night, Miss Price, dressmaker and sweetshop-keeper, dream of her lover, tall as the town clock tower, Samson-syrup-gold-maned, whacking thighed and piping hot, thunderbolt-bass'd and barnacle-breasted flailing up the cockles with his eyes like blowlamps and scooping low over her lonely loving hotwaterbottled body...

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>The only sea I saw
Was the seesaw sea
With you riding on it.
Lie down, lie easy.
Let me shipwreck in your thighs.

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I could quote so much of this book. The opening page alone makes me swoon. It's a 'Play for Voices', so best experienced on stage (with a Welsh cast of actors). If you try reading the prose with a Welsh lilt it absolutely sings.

Here's a snippet of the opening performed by Michael Sheen.