What Is Love?

What is love? Since we met,
I no longer pray
that this be my last life on earth.
Enligtenment is not to fly
beyond the body but to dance.
To spin through achings
and gaze through years.
In paradise it is not flesh
that disappears, but "I"
who cannot see your face,
or taste the dark matter
of desire. Let me come back
and take a human shape again,
to beam my light
through your pupils
and breathe up your spine,
make you quiver with my
flame of exhalation,
swelling two chests
with the motion of one mind
incarnate in a sigh.
I want to undulate
inside your breastbone,
drip down your sternum,
float on the rising falling
tide of your belly.
I want to be your breath
and build my hut
in the valley of your bosom.
The mud between our toes,
the wattle of our bones shall be
the stuff  of home-making.
And if, beyond
the farthest galaxy
there wander better stars
in some exile of perfection,
let them fall into our moist
unholy sky, and take birth
as our children.


Face by Leonardo da Vinci