the taste is bittersweet; under this poets tongue

I have been unfaithful,
under a curtain of night
even as you laid
a fingers breath from my hem,

he stole my affection
in sheared moments of Ecstasy
 
~~~
 
We came together
an eclectic mix,
liquid methane and fire,
once we had merged
our passion ignited
 
after the flames died down,
I took out a staff of creation
combining oceans of words
with waves baring
the muniments to love,
in a age of stars
nestled in black petals
and in the prayer rolls of galaxies,
my letters of adoration
shimmer
 
you can use a finger
and trace the path of my desires
through night
 
mouths of dark and light
kissed,
soft and gentle,
to a fevered fumbling
making poems slide out
between a tongue of your breath
and my lips,
I create my own beginnings,
until the end is whispers
 
I ask for no Taj Mahal
or crown of Sheba,
what use have I for a thousand ships
hulls busting agape with ardor,

I only yearn to taste the first syllable
that flows from the tip of your tongue
my lust twirls dream-catchers
and yet I crave the rush of methane,
 
my lust sparks to mark the darkness
with shooting streams of love
 
~~~
 
Neruda whispers to me of scents loosed
on the float of lemon flowers,
 
his rest begun
in a the soft valley
of my heart, and
he knew not how,
or when or from where
 
but from the other side
he found a way to my heart
timing the tide,
his words now rest under my tongue
and are savored with passion,
I am reduced, again and again
 
all this?
is only in my mind