Amante V

Too late to be up, mi dulce.
Too early, with the moon
full in the night, hanging
in blind omniscence. Distant
birdcalls approach. Dawn
stretches in cool mist
to lick the Earth's face clean

Amante, lift yourself.
Haga que su deseo pide.

Make your desire plead, Mendigo,
for my mouth and the grasp
of tongue, teeth pushing you
into sighs and the little
remonstrances of fingers.

Here and here,
suavecito, supplicant.

The sky is turning to milk,
gray pearlesence; the birds
are speaking.
The night breathes its dying sibilance.
Silence. Skin rising, falling
together.