It’s a tough call, but my vote for the greatest erotic line(s) of poetry is the close of Neruda’s “Every Day You Play,” the fourteenth poem in Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair:

I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

The whole last stanza is amazing, with each line even greater than the one that came before it, stair-stepping to a perfect, beautiful penultimate line that leads to that greatest line of all.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

[Translated from the Spanish by W.S. Merwin.]

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OK, this is weird. I Googled the final line of the poem to see what might pop up. On his blog Crafty Odysseus, Tim Leach has posted the entire poem, mentioning in his intro that it’s “notable for including possibly the sexiest final line of a poem ever written….” Taking this synchronicty to unbearable limits, he posted this just two days ago. Clutching my skull, I shriek, “Tim, get out of my heeeeeeaaaaaad!”