Across my face 
his lips articulate the
supple voice of 
a kiss.  His streams 
of consciousness release 
into my speechless rims

and I swallow them like seeds.
Sometimes 
they stop behind his eyes and hesitate,
incarcerated leaves in my storm, his 
storm.  He is
summer translucence,
          blue amber light
risen from winters 
of misperception.  
We are heartbeats never heard
times two
          and if 
it's love, I don't 
want to know.  






02 jun 03
M Madison