the stairs of your eyes suspend
over the shored edges of our damp
limbs, whorling inside
sunken eddies of breath
love is a kind of invading.
don't tell me it's not.
your fingers breach and
maraud, palm my silt and
sediment,
making room,
in me,
for you.
we permeate. a soft trespass,
thick and resilient. saltlike
on the tongue.
in elegy,
our bodies
unthreading their slow sounds
across
the universe, shaping and
unshaping, again and again
and again and again
all the gold we cannot see.
you soak your vowels in the
butterfly notch beneath my throat
and I think,
we are opaque ghosts
to
to each other
settling love in the faultlines
, like
little kintsugi bowls
what chrysalis will we be today
for the shape of love tomorrow?
and will you invade me then?