You, ocean curved
exhale—as Im the wavewashed
shell at your throat
You remember as...
well...
as sand

And yes...you loosen my knees cartilage
and yes...
I swirl in the whorl of your fingertips
and no...
I want to swallow whole your scallopladen hair
your whole pink carnations
I want to slide
my breathy self home

Ive forgotten how to say what I need in the language of my mother's mother's mother.

Wait...Touch my tongue. And
yes, touch my tongue. And no, touch the small
of my back. Lovely one.

Between the sheets
Seaweed and Doorways
You shed
We gasp
our breaths
brim.
Listen,
the tracks we lay
across each others skin
cut summer grass, evaporating
salt, driftwood...
once again...
as sand

Discuss: pebbles and sand castles.

The difference is
closing the space between
our bodies

but...

Love,
the back of your
mouth is visible and it is as delicate
as mushrooms, caves,
or even moths that come out
at night after painting sugar
on tree bark, feathery,
blanched and translucent
from flashlights

Had I
a hundred tongues yours
would be the kindest and
most radiant: the last
time I saw anything shine so blue....