With my skull in place, I thank God for
the eyes’ orbits, the gravity of the brain.

My ears adhere to sound, my touch to your skin,
lips to lips, buried in the loam of you.

How do you taste? Honey and almond, agave and goji;
earthy, salty, a drink of ocean.

We have knelt facing, our thighs parallel,
our hands pressed as if we were mirrors.

Forward without falling,
suspended in a space of our making.

The world, a spotlight,
fades to pinpoint, traces down our seam.

We are stencils
in time.

An image from
light years ago.

Chagall 2018