I am standing on the sea
folding the night in my pocket,
your skin stretched as canvas for the stars
the remaining sunlight splashing upon it,
innocence, coy smiles and linear lightning.
the two of us
sinking and rising,
wet then dry,
reaching then accepting,
nerves and light and rising wetness
the rising and falling tide.
so comes the night
like crippled claws crawling across the world
spreading out like a river without banks
wide and wider still
as your beauty is
searing the stars with shine.
the purple hue of your blush in shadow
I taste your skin like wine:
sweet bitter intoxicating smooth, you the
product of a vine in the
full of brilliance, supple curved soft,
my tongue is massaging the
while my sculptor hands squeeze the
juice from you.
I am sculpting you
out of sublimation,
the clay between the strands of your hair:
moist, it forms the inside curves of
you, the deep and soft spots of
you, the places you reveal to me,
as if each inch of you were eden.