Eight Kisses


One


You can call
it emptiness, breath, epithet, or oblivion
or love, or the thing we can't

touch, while in motion.  
      The rush
of your mouth in me like icemelt water,

innocent, surging
like a creek,
touching,

   stopped.


                                                          Second Kiss

                                                          I'd like to eat sunlight like an orange,
                                                          and let lighty juices run down my jaw
                                                          and neck and chest like afternoon rivers.

                                                          I may burn my lips, but that is nothing
                                                          to the sweet, resinous heat of summer
                                                          roving over your body like a golden hand.



Third Kiss

And we're shine-lit
on the hillside in
the only star.



                                                          Fourth Kiss

                                                          The soul has no glimmer,
                                                          even in this midday sun, and still,
                                                          like a screw I would raise it always to drink
                                                          from the well of your flowering mouth.





Five





                                                          Sixth Kiss

                                                          Fishing a line made of average brushes,
                                                          casting for angels in the glen of your mouth.

                                                          I spied them sleeping on your neck,
                                                          watched them rise and fall, white thoughts spinning
                                                          from a dandelion in low summer, endured
                                                          a lure made of quiet to gather them
                                                          as if by wild magic.
                                                          The cousined string stretched itself like a lover's hair
                                                          across the shoal of your coral shoulder,
                                                          the indefinacy of your collar’s gentle hollow and
                                                       

                                                              the enzyme cast..                                .

                                                          I am slipping the fingers of angels between my lips
                                                          making them lazy with pleasing
                                                          then I eat their gauzy wings;
                                                          they disappear like spun sugar
                                                          in the heat of your mouth.  


Seventh Kiss

Am I trying to write durable journals,
words that will weather or remain intact?

More, I'm trying to scribe myself
in the pond of your soul,
moving my hand, writing my name
as a man in your water.

How can I separate the narrow sweeps
of your body from your strangeness, highway light?

True, your body is only the first reflection.
Everything holds your aspect, love.

                    Movement in good hope,

cover me all like the infused honey sun.


                                                          Eighth Kiss

                                                          We left the blinds up last night
                                                          To watch the snow and lightning,
                                                          While the storm of your body
                                                          Pressed its anger against my sea,
                                                          Your rain greenly beating my ocean,
                                                          Useless, useless.

                                                          This fine morning you're happy'go'lucky,
                                                          Idle lioness, indolent, golden and lazy
                                                          And making dream'sound in the erotic
                                                          Deep beneath your yielded lips.