Rocky lakeside.

It is spring and my skin is no longer
my skin. I want to become the lake,
binding myself to reflect the morning sun.

There’s no silence, the rush and thrum
of blood in my ears, my dizzy glad
muscles become liquid poured

like sweet wine I want you to taste
and find pleasing. Touch me here,
lay this basalt in a line up my leg.

Press guide marks into the map
of my thighs. Row by row, we can
count the moles on each other’s arms,

make legend of the guideposts, breathe
and become the lit lake, we glow through
cliffs and goldenrod between the rocks.

Look, I’ve set this porphyry in my eyes,
rhyolite which I have gathered on the shore.
I replace my eye with stone and see

clearly. Gift your neck to my mouth. Leave me
with summer on my tongue and your name
on my lips _________quick, before I forget.

Photo by Colin Gregory, used and adapted under CC.