I do not complain the slow singe
Of sun above our heads, nor
     The blue berserker which is before us,
          A thing of beauty and treachery,

I do not mind the moisture, the salinity,
Beads of sweat, eloping with the spray,
Diaphanous and are one, escaping us,
     Departing into thin air.

I would trade all energy, the distance
Of this journey, the labors of our feet,
Just to witness you, the black bird
     Of brows I love, surveying the horizon,
Those teeth of linear pearl, or the red
Gates of kiss immortal, all risen
     From the summery sshh of heat.

There's nothing that would equal
The squinting of your eyes, those
Thinning of the stars, the doubled
     Supernova, which now are phoenixes
That are not born, burned, nor are revived,
     But carry death, my death, my only,

          My life.*

© 2015 J.S.P.