It is a tongue,
Surrendering itself to lips, and a heart
That dips
And there they will be held
Within a naked kiss.
And within smiles
And the comings and goings of limbs
And upon his loins
I will begin
As I growl
And the thunder roars
And we are drawn upon an ocean of
Clawing.

And he breathes, with his fierce hands
And my lungs sob
And our souls complain.

We are burning upon, endless flame
And upon waters of flesh
And we are eating the moisture from our necks.

© Deborah Gordon 2008