“He said, ‘Delores,
I live in fear. My love for you
is so overpowering I’m afraid
that I will disappear.’ ”
Paul Simon
Her lips burn against me
sizzle and fume there at the interface
between soft flesh and skin.
A tangle
of steam and smoke sings
up into my nostrils
my tear ducts
and finally nestles in
between the strands of my hair.
Imperfection accumulates,
negative seeking positive:
a burning tear slides down
along the outside curve
of my nose
lingers
then falls away
leaving me only salt
and her fine-powdered
essence
on my chin.
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