(an After poem…)

You are passion and Sahara skin
dripping honeyed planetary orbits around me

I seem to be all shadow and need
contenting myself with loneliness in the vast reach of space

You speak
bold heady whirlpools I can only whisper of
hoping no gods hear the conversations I have with myself

Would you touch me
with the muscled warm flat of your palm,
hold my face with intention
tell my icy cheek it’s alright to melt

I soften into your heat,
bones exposed like broken branches after a thaw
open for newness and green

Would you touch me
until I remember the shape of gravity,
breathing you like smoke
from the very first
fire