For Liz.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my ears
and it swirled in an atmospheric pressure.
You looked into my ambiance like
first dates and ice cream cones
and erotica shoved under the bed.

You were gold and tangerine sofabeds
slipped in the corner of the bedroom.

I was mirrors on the ceiling
and cast-iron bed posts.
I wanted you like face flushed in firelight
though your lips are small like mine.

You spoke the passion of jet fuel
into the faces of breathless lovers
and I wanted to crawl inside of your bones.

You bled black opals into an ocean made of jasmine
and I wanted to light you like incense-
burn you long in ribbons
that curl around my flesh-
let you satiate my brain
as bubbles in tonic.

You stretched naked onto midnight quicksand
and allowed me to cover
your arteries in kisses;
but they were too sweet and

I wanted to bury you in the earth,
bathe your body in maternity,
and then devour the fruits
of my labor slowly- like fine chocolate.

You wrote nonsense on the inside of my skin
and it pulsed into my lymph-nodes
beaded out of my pores, onto my flesh,
transforming my epidermis into ecstasy.

You laid your self out on my hands
and gave me vulnerability and
the trust of your first time
with your first lover,
although this is not the first time
and we are not lovers.