02 May 1999


Following footprints through sands of your face
My fingers trace geographies of skin -
These valleys of mouths, colored pupil lakes -
Cross cliffs of cheekbones, cartilage caverns
Darkened by blood vessel trees underneath.
I want to climb down your tongue so I can
Feel you speak instead of just hearing workds
Whose message is so drowned in vocal sounds
Their meaning no longer vibrates inside.
Entering you, I watch your blood travel
In tubes lining smooth, breathing muscle walls.
I wonder if you can feel my footsteps
As I trudge barefoot in plasma puddles
Towards the pulsing piece of you I want.