I only taste myself on your fingertips; no wonder
Your lips have swallowed me
Whole. Nothing left behind to find;
Only cobwebs of nearly remembered
Black and white photographs; the wiry hair of an artichoke’s heart, a conch’s
Glossy lip lighted along the ridges and spires of hermaphroditic
Vegetables; the mind wanders through a journey beneath shadow.
The sort of hands that remind
Your skin of it’s universe of invisible hair
Standing on end.
No boundary to him, easily sliding
Under it, sparkling electricity
gathering the atoms of your being in your belly.