What I Imagine...

The copper bridle of your arms
Dark garnet reflected in
The florid blossom of your mouth,
Whose urgency is much like feeding.

You are the Mango, dulce y morena,
whose juice I await
with unsheathed gentleness and wanting.

Skies grow wild with volcanic passion
We are the smells of cinnamon and iron,
The tastes of boiled grapes and silver,
Inside me is an avalanche
My tongue, a boulder leaving signatures
of gravel across your arched belly.
The sight of you melts my eyes
Like yellow cheese ladled over Calabazas Chilena,

Frightening moments, orgasms of night,
minor holocausts stir within me.
Beginnings pour out, into endings
Where you are the hint of the promise of courage,
To withstand every scraping pain
And the insult of salt
For your wound, for mine.

Healing begins in our closest parts
Traveling to the extremities
On the rickety public transportation that is blood
Powered by each nerve in turn calling out, each,
To our coy, blind sex
Sex that created you like an impeccably tailored suit
Wrapped around me
Or a layer of honey and cane syrup
In which I drown
Sinking beneath a trail of gliding bubbles
That burst with your name.