Rise, Love.

You could rise, like smoke

fresh from the last kiss
of glass-struck lips,
you could alight from salt beds
of the ocean gripping my thighs;
as the moon burns melting high
over convulsing midnight waves,
you crash from the gargantuan galaxy,
spread out your blazing trails acrossmy parched lips,
make love with little salt rivers
and stretch out along the retreating ocean
on my lips,
and then would you rise again
like the smoke, fresh from love.