kiss your...

a poem [stripped]

Monica Bellucci, Monte Carlo 2001; Helmut Newton

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If I could…

Meld, subtly, the softest 
Tremor of my breath
Spiral in your architectural thoughts 
Delicate spired sanctuaries 
—slip—
Essences of us pressing 
Heat of our presence 
Roots rooted in soils 
—spinning—
Trace the outline of you
With my silken sigh tongue
—slowly—
Drink from the morning of your cup 
Find you there in
Key’s opposing notes on repeat 
As we meet
Your bright starlight intellect pressed
Vessel soul stripped 
—waiting— 
Digging conscious
Gardens glowing 
—meeting—
The edges of us 
—touching—
—blending—

If I could…

Kiss your…




—sylvia

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