Sylvia, I want to sip at the shake of your hips
I want to move to the state of your hair, Sylvia
I want to haunt with the ghost of your smile,
you creamy fire engine, you easy bowl of milk
Sylvia, I want to hop your fences and feed you apples,
read your palms like braille; you gentlest of souls,
you gypsy moth,
you dripping locomotive.
Sylvia, your thighs are packed like
suitcases I desperately need to open. Sylvia, I want to
powder your nose, plant violets behind your eyes and
watch your realization bloom. I want to test your
ripeness, you summer peach. I want to match your lashes
to kiss your cheeks; you raucous flowerchild,
you wide-eyed suckerpunch,
you lusty antithesis,
you onomatopoeia
Uncross my borders and
test my teeth; Sylvia, would you
cover my mouth so I can breathe?