My pleasure is a dream in your body.
The image arouses in you a night of ferns
and dark pillows hidden long ago.
I close my eyes and see you among the leaves
and you desire me as one desires life.
You have been walking toward this moment
and the path feels centuries warm.
You ask me nothing: the body is a ready answer.
Deep and oily like damp bridges
moving from stair to stair in the secret twilight.
And we kiss consciously
kissing every angle of those kisses
until blood alters the volume of things
and a repressed joy reaches the color of fire.
Your pleasure is my body's mirror
stretching itself like a silver thread
wound around my neck
saying
words.
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