The calculus of breath
glistens with anticipation.
The word upon the word
is never still.
Peel back the skin
and with a tender turn
of thumb and forefinger
invert the segments
of the living fruit
until all the ancient
moves and declensions
have been stitched
to the meat of your palms
and sewn upon your brow:
the language molting
in a liquid matrix
of extrapolation,
the porcelain litanies
and bone hard rhythms
of heady passion
cast against the glass
in an imagistic dance
of shared reflection,
the accelerating shiver
of slow transcendence,
the unmapped wilderness
of a lover's hair,
its intricacies trapped
for a hyperbolic instant
by your keen embrace.
Appeared in The Pedestal Magazine
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