Ask the stems in the glass to bend. Let
Your fingers fly, a momentary grasp then
slip into spaces, surge in and out of folds
where breasts begin to curve and rise.
Be God. Press your curing skin to mine,
dissolve and pronounce me. Let my eyes
fallout and embed in the carpet, rooting.
Let my hands arrange the air for you,
braiding. Reluctant sun at the window, open
your eyes burn through the dense haze with
your severe love. Slide open the bone-zip of
my spine, anoint each rigid peak. Take my
limbs and fold me over. Here's my mouth,
hummingbird, linger there, and hold
[First prize winner of the Magma Magazine poetry competition.]