Your moons are made of paper, darling
your thoughts mount into landscapes only you can navigate
your skin is colored salt.

Brush your teeth with lip-gloss and hope you clean up pretty
you bubble like boils on your forehead
you sizzle like your stunning stutter

my voice is bubblegum
when you kiss me it slips into your mouth
that is me
I am all yours
stretch me around your tongue
get me caught in your hair
caught in your head
your mouth tastes like breath, air, words

there is nothing more poetic than
washing your hands and thinking of ghosts
tonight it’s Neruda cooling on my fingertips
I can’t tell what he says, I don’t

speak Spanish
but his voice reminds me of cracked bowls
and mangoes
and your hair

actually I took Latin but I forget most things
someday I will forget your soap-sud ghost
and your paper moons; someday
I will forget how to say I love you
in any language at all