You tell me I know it's wrong
and I feel good.
It feels good,
your resolve slipping through my fingers.
So, here's your lips.
Here’s your hand, tumbling in aerials.
Here’s my horizon opening, mouth broadening in
silent gasps and she’s there, love, the other room.
I’m falling please God not “for”
So stop saying my name so low
once, twice (I hush you)-
Rumbling ellipses drip onto my tongue.
Get your voice out of my ear.
Pick up your lips.
Fold up your fingers, hastily,
Because there’s a taste rising
in the back of my throat at seeing
what you dredged from my ocean floor.
It is hell, it sweet
To taste possibility on new lips
Once the thrill of unfamiliarity
has been rubbed off hers.
I know it’s wrong.