Amante VII (Hypersonnet)

Please do not ask, Amante, if we love.
Darkness is nigh; the moon is lemon pale,
and we embrace in arms of comet trail,
awash in teardrops from the stars above.
Trabe los ojos, ángel. Dése yo.
Empuje el dolor dentro de mí.
I am your mouth. You are my sea.
We are primordial in mingled flow.
Susurro a mí; let all our secrets go
into tides, mi dulce, where we are free
to float enrapt in moan and sigh. The night
unfolds its depths in lips, in languor slow.
You make your limbs enfold me as a tree
clings to the midnight Sun, drinking its light.
We soar here together, enjoined like dove
to wing. We cry one song, our voices sail
to safer harbor, past where we might fail
against the crags, heedless strike and shove
of circumstance. Querida, cast off fright.
Don't call it love, Amante, call it right.