My imagination is a constellation

which sits atop your elbow;

my thoughts are the clouds which fall

upon your diamond eyes-

we nudge a bit closer till our thighs disappear,

busy beneath the night.

Your delicate skin,

fragrant of smoke, cherry soft,

where are your sleeping thoughts?

I can see in the corner of your eye a waterfall-

our toes quietly talking,

our feet brushing off the cold,

our arms are just extensions

of the valleys we call home-

how I long to be a part of your subtle ways,

of your language and your tongue.