The moon’s layers peeled
one by one reveal the small
sugar cube at the eternal place.
Arrows of fire skin point
where thighs come together,
where flesh changes tone
in color, gravity and scent.
Scent that undulates the air,
weaves itself a half spoken
smoky sentence, and places
a drunken fabric over eyes
no passing sun or reason
could ever penetrate.
The caramel pull stretches me.
No one returns from where
the sea falls to the abyss.
A red light inside warns:
Primal mode only. But no
one watches the control desk.
Just a cup of coffee she said…
and here she is rooted in my
tongue. Nothing will ever
move us again, not even
the smell of fresh coffee.
DQ 02/26/07
