What Matters

All that matters is the kiss

of pistil and stamen.

All that matters is the wave nature

of the moon.

All that matters an erotic caress

of listener and silence,

thrill of stillness

where music is conceived.

All that matters is the death

of distances, the pool
of sapphire yearning

where the sky in your forehead

drowns my darkest embryo.

Are we not born

inside each other

as tears?

Here is the gift of emptiness.

All that matters is the touch

of your breath,

pouring in from the desert night
across the sea, where stars
arrange themselves so tenderly

over your slumber,

and my breath,

ebbing into the diamond blackness

that is always awake.

Photo: Shi Shi Beach, Matthew Nichols Photography