Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Her Milk and Honey

I wake up
in the curl of the night
pushing your breasts into my emptiness.
Buttery lips kiss rosebuds-
my mind blooms red in Your heart.

Sometimes I travel
like unaccompanied luggage
to that hinterland
where Your hands can collect me.

At other times I curl up
in the foetal dampness
of this need
and beg for nipples
to feed my darkness.