as we melt—–
flesh to flesh being the spirit’s most endless zone.
How can I be this close without losing myself?
Miles of details arrive: geography & jobs,
calls & letters, yet still you are the screen close-up
at the back of my mouth. Yes, still we are the hourglass
in the inferno of passion, & glass walls expand,
& the sand never stops.

Such is the silk of our skin, as smooth, as fine.
Such is our rhythm: the merging, the re-forming
of evaporative air ’til all of my colors are water’s
condensation & you shape my every page,
a Song of Solomon welling, spreading
clean as distilled love can.