I taste wine on your lips as we kiss
and make love—my heart is heady
—drunk on you and the sweet drink
that incinerates our maddened lips
and pulls me closer to your trembling.
Hours pass in a dusk darkened chamber,
my mind coated in the two syllables of your name:
Are you still drunk, my love?
Only on you.
Afterwards, when we lay intertwined,
I forget the separation of our two bodies
and imagine our souls interlocked
like the wing of a moth against a flame.