I want to read the words that flow from your tongue,
catching on your bottom lip, like a drop of wine
trembling, hanging on by a lick and a prayer—
and I’m hoping to God that it’s transformed into water
because rivers flow from your fingertips, released by your teeth
and I am holding on through the flood, grasping
at your body, like it’s the last thing anchoring me for miles.
I haven’t written in months, years, eternities and universes-
but I want to write odes that make your blood sing, opening,
drowning you, me, her, them.
because drowning doesn’t mean the end,
after you sweep me away, tossing me, caressing me, holding me,
I want to float in your vast seas
through your spaces, and you through mine.
I want to go to your depths
and come back more whole than I was before
the pressure fusing me together
until we explode outwards, inwards,
creating galaxies from our eyes-
muscles forming new land masses,
our cells new star-lit beings.