We talk in openings
in vestibules of silence
whispering thresholds
anywhere
where the space between us
needs a language.
I have learned
to write poetry with my skin
small gospels of love
with my blood.
Your blushed trembling
is an utterance
for us both.
Our instincts are as compliant
as dew
as keen as hunting lions.
A devoted sparrow
becomes an eagle of adoration.
Clouds become flesh.
Lips become the flavor
of Your charisma
a union we both taste
both kiss.
