You smell like the dusty ring of light wreathing
the moon on warm nights, and I forget about the yellow
smell of my Grandmother’s coffin. And I forget that
people hide rotting lies under their gums
as your tongue kisses my teeth, licking them clean.
I tell you it feels good, and that I like the way you pull
the corners of my mouth up without cracking my lips.
Your sheets wrinkle into butterfly wings under my
back, and as you sleep, the heat of your silver breath
blooms in my ear like a lullaby. When I push my fingertips
out to dip them in the night, the darkness waves back
and I do not mind that I don’t know why.