She raises her lips, a question
cresting the shadowed-sun crease
of her mouth, and though my arms loop
her in, unfolded prayer in the press
of warm skin and fraying cloth,
I see the wanting
that’s never found its legs, hear
the pull and snap of sutured sorrows
brawling for song in her throat.
I wonder how far down the yearning
trembles, where the first break
is a shuttered memory, leaking
a midnight hope, and how many seeds
the spirit scatters when displaced
by a desperate love.
And yet her body hums,
and I accept
giving my lips
to her kiss.