Your skin is a memory of silk,
where my breath trails pathways.
The lit shadow of a hesitating finger,
on the border between two rivers.
A shiver of light behind eyelids,
this slow flight of lashes
writing promises on the neck.
Time becomes a cluster of grapes,
and each berry a moment
yielding under the tooth of desire.
In the curve of the world, only this:
the murmur of an unspoken name,
rising from the well of the belly
like incense toward the moon.
〰️ 🤍 〰️
🦅 Cheyenne Isa ₿ 🦅
