I dream the flaming baedeker of your mouth
a Gordian knot
Leading the wax fountains of my hands
To a grotto
Of supernal petals where

The moon's clipped wing flutters
Behind a curtain
As a hand raised up mid-air about to speak

Of why the stars are wearing codpieces tonight
As we lay down
On evening a divan in the shape of a feather

The planets assemble around your hips
Into a nosegay
In which the frayed oar of my tongue
Finds its nest

Above the waves of your ears
I watch the magnesium flags turning
Into white wings climbing