At the corner of your mouth, where it curls in gentle distain, a little spiting mirth, lives the unseen world
In your eyes, polished obsidian run through with black onyx, lies the hearth of your internal combustion
As you breathe, I cannot fail to notice the lovely juxtaposition of your bones gleaming beneath apricot skin, as the buttons on your shirt atest, each breath yawning her fitful glimpse
I cannot help but wonder those stored bottles of delight, high upon your shelf, how your nipples would taste, the flowered breath of your heart of palm
And divining central, that pulsing mandala, reaching her fragrance into dreamworld, the color of aubergine and hibiscus bled in winter river as redwood is lost to time
My artichoke girl, wreathed in wild flowers, your body a temple for this supplicant, as light diminishes, your thirsty form grows spectral, a mango tree heavy in fruiting
From within, you glow with the hardy tempest of your nature, a pulsing, feckless creature, nimble in your art of deft possession
If I could starve for want of you, I believe I would. For no moment passes with satisfaction, unless in some way, you exist on its marble periphery
The very yoke of a day is cast by your presence. I could subsist on the rounding detour of your thighs for a hundred sleepless nights
Grow from your slumber the memories of your cries, curled in my ear, my lips, my reincarnation of our slippery motion to capture
When it is cold my hands seek your bright match to kindle animation, climbing from the solace of you, strengthened by remembered, evoked echo of intimacy
A song wound around my ribs as river reeds pull the charmed to their divine drowning and with last sip of air we relinquish control and let go
My love, your eyes bewitch my life blood, kindling the charred rejoinder of hope, a poppet to your sorcerery, emerging from deep forest
When dying comes for me, it’ll be your face I kiss, feverish and familiar, your preternatural smile haunting my passage, faithful ghost, mine
For some there is no method of separation, we are bound in crushed roses to one
In this place. In each other. A languid, yawning soft space between, the unseen world.