My desire is a poem in your mouth:
I anticipate this miracle of myself,
scratching the words, opening the legs
of my tomorrow, licking your heart
with care.

I feel.
It is a morning glory, a story to be
worshipped: I kneel down, I bow.
You sleep in my altar, in every inch
of me.
I feel.

My desire is a waterfall inundating
your hands, howling like a thunder
over your soft rocks of pleasure.
Flowers fall: it would be an unexpected beauty
if our mossy bodies could breath.

You you you
Salamanders burn under my quilt,
Yes, you are my myth, a creature born
of my fire.
Maybe you are the fire of my fire.
I keep my dream warm as I cuddle my desire,
searing my soul and eyes, heating those moments
washed by the moonlight.

I sigh.
My passion and my conscience struggle together.
A salamander rests on my breast:
I call you you you
and when you read my metaphors
my flames consume me. I die.
But don't believe your eyes.
If you come close,
you won't see me my dearest:
you will see
a Phoenix Rising.

My desire is my deathless inspiration melting
in your tongue.

Karla Bardanza

1 comment: