After Touching You, I Think of Narcissus Drowning

How desire is a thing I might die for. Longing a well,

a long dark throat. Enter any body

of water and you give yourself up

to be swallowed. Even the stones

know that. I have writhed

against you as if against the black

bottom of a deep pool. I have emerged

from your grip breathless

and slicked. How easily

I could forget you

as separate, so essential

you feel to me now. You

beneath me like my own

blue shadow. You silent as the moon

drifts like a petal

across your skin, my mouth

to your lip—you a spring

I return to, unquenchable, and drink.