caught in the whoosh of entry pulled by the gravity
of this gaze (unholy sweet and divinely inebriating)
yes love, entering this place where kisses are my welcome
for when we can have the intensity of the meshing of our mouths
why bother with the impersonal touch of a handshake?
your high cold house, your dirty room
i see it for the dust on the windowsill, not the stars & moon beyond
tangibility tells me that same dust settled on you in your sleep
and i want to see you napping;
caught as the sun falls in long gold fingers on your face
the dust swirling in tiny swirls within the grasp of that light
god, you look so clean
but you're dirty as the dust and me
this is how i claim you;
wholly and with the purity i dance floating in the air before you
like the love affair between dust and light
the eighth
the tenth