Your window

at my throat: the vaseline of strawberries
& musk. I rode

your lips lustrous, a smitten
interior, bride’s breath

broke open with salt
silk mixed in the singing

palms of apple trees.
Your hand stripping

the red from my hermit door
it goes down. Narcotic

oils the theatre of eros. All
the hunger a voice holds,

warm vowels in the bread of night, wanting
each maverick piece—all the derelict streets

of leg hair, burlesque music
shining in the temple fibres, maroon

sinews, dark woman
star. Dark

nights of soul.
So slow our cusp

slips opulent hallelujah!
A litany of comets

milking up the sky