you hold a magnifying glass
to my ear
a tiny sun on my ear drum,
a wildfire blowing across my nervous system
i taste copper dripping
but you soothe
as well as ignite
pouring cool skin over me,
an anointment, a flood
a salve to the forest
and from above, the beams of your eyes1
sweep the dark places between my ribs
kicking dust up into spaces
i had forgotten to clean
but it doesn't matter now
as the crest of you comes down
ruining my house of bones
carrying a soup of me
to the dark waters
1.
The Extasie by
John Donne
Our eye-beames twisted, and did thred
Our eyes, upon one double string;