Blowing Smoke

o

She lifts her head to gift the stars white

smoke and my lips are drawn to the floral

arch of her neck, inching higher, the swirl

her fragrant exhalations make becoming night:

breath to air, dust to dust – we are mortals

drenched in a hummingbird sensation of time.

oo

I have known moments like this; my naked torso

brown as the bark of the mango tree I’ve mounted,

its leaves camouflage while I watch my playmates

seeking me, excitement choking me the same way

her moving fingers make my breath hover. She catches

me in the corner of her eye, my lips tremble on her

skin before the giggle becomes sound; lightning to thunder.

ooo

Sometimes I was found – some girl or boy throwing stones,

breaking the amnios of leaves that protected me – but most

times I just got tired of waiting and shimmied down. Love

is a little like that – the playmates plentiful as pollen grains

yet only a few bursting beyond the red bubble of lust

to the heart, the after-giggle, where the smoke-rings go.