SALAMANDERS

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.

-if-

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