I lift Her into me. I do not know how:
A cradle of breath
woven from longing.
lends me power.
I am walked through Her.
Eyes look into their own windows.
I am hunger
but She eats me like salted butter.
We fondle interior positions.
The art is to be always moving
into each other
like water to thirst.
Dark blooms open
only when touched into light.
The shadows
under the lintels of thresholds
pull the outside in
through inner recesses
like fingers.
I don’t know how
but you can feel love
moving into position
you tremble when touched
by an interior kiss.
The how does not matter
only the when.
