Have you tasted the mild
milk in the red cup, drifting down
your side, always in an Eastern arc?
I put it on my lips
And breathed
A Dog Spring,
collapsing in slivers
of penetrating rain.
We said the letters over again,
Spelling flower and petal strokes.
Your lips covered in a thick wax,
And what was left after
Our hour upon your chest?
The light rain of this day
Only half past,
the violet gray memory.
I have thoughts that escape me
upon your angular paper thin flesh.
When we two met in
In warm Easter skin facing west,
I came to you a prayer upon the mast.
The sun rose to a song between our voices.
