Six Words for A Kiss

Vi, can't you see how much I miss you? Remember this:

6 words for a kiss

lips

My hand rides your brown thigh, barely touching,
speed to plough familiar winding roads home to lips on lips through lips under over pressed parting lips,
no speak no tongue none but my own that’s still so hungry for your lips

air

Swimming hand in hand, dark, then a flash of street lamp surge,
we surface through body-warm, amniotic night, and as you turn and sodium vapor ripples across your face,
jumps my pulse, passion whip edited, to other nights matted as tight against my chest
as the sweat-pressed silk that clings to your hips

outside

the Mexican restaurant brain froze fluorescent green Margarita,
Tabasco and tobacco pinch my tongue as your strut reminds me that my heart has long since broken its moorings
and rises—up my chest, out my throat, float, past teeth,
free to dance on contrails raised from ember concrete sidewalks made ripe by orchid night

secret

a hard black pebble lodged under my tongue so round so smooth so polished by practiced deception
of all but you spills effortless from my throat and only you know that though
what I declare rolls fictive like heat lightning dancing off far mountaintops
it is not but razor true

prayer

why do I always do this, enrapturing my own destiny
as if some tremulous ego finger tap a tat
lifts my fumbled words above the line,
perhaps because in your lips on mine,
I taste the first act of the divine

art

3 a.m., Brahman's hour, beyond magnetic lines of sin and salvation,
truth belie, delta pi, fevered wakefulness and sleeping liss,
this longing in your absence is a song with
no tongue,
no lips,
just rhythm, just a frantic rattle in a cage, two clicked tones—
on/off,
senseless/dream,
illusion/more illusion,
marijuana/haze,

oh beg this fickle muse to whom I pray
to forgive me if I cannot stay
for your next
Kiss

The very definition of desire