...your hands appear around my waist
& a rumor that your lips are nearing my cheekbone
struggling for breath & that finally your murmurs
might fly in from some distant exotic location,
close as oceans mixing and hot rooms on the opposite end of the same house
late night cups of tea, familiar shoulder grips;

the kitchen is a mess for hands appear about my waist
kisses saunter up my wrist and a saved rumor flying that
your lips are near my vacant wishbone

you have brought champagne, drawn the curtains, lit Xlang-
Xlang incense upstairs, showered and left your clothes on the floor
with mine and towels and wet footmarks, your hands

appear about my waist, every sentence you speak
precedes you as if you are reading your thoughts
from a book I've memorized and forgotten.

10/27/2006

Posted on 10/27/2006
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