I am desperate to love you, to know you,
Like a bride who burns off her wedding dress,
Like lips waiting, misshapen, to kiss.
Kisses fell out of us like water falls,
Bursting to earth and deafening the onlookers!
When we kissed, we could hear the sea crashing around us.
But where are they now, those slippery kisses?
What’s left of their vast wetness?
No child has grown between us.
Even a puddle leaves its residue of mud,
Some softening of the way
Despite whatever volume of traffic.
Stirring the syrup of your sweet sweet life,
Letting the licks insist their way into me, inside me,
Surely my lips remain sticky?
How many feet have been here before us? Every foot.
Every pace of the path is hard with old passages, old passions.
Every route is known; no star blinks undiscovered–
Except by us, two blips on the periphery,
Elliptical with longing, our lips chapped by the long wintering over,
Too stiff and dry to even whistle!
Our veined and florid maps are still tucked in our backpacks.
Our tents are not yet ready to unroll with sleep.
My eyes keep blinking, keep looking, no matter how dark the way.
There’s still so much to see, I think,
When your hand brushes mine under the pine trees,
And the sound of our walking fades into the background,
And I close my eyes to breathe.
If love is, then love is what happens
When you forget where you’re going.