the stairs of your eyes suspend

over the shored edges of our damp

limbs, whorling inside

sunken eddies of breath
 


love is a kind of invading.
 

don't tell me it's not.
 


your fingers breach and

maraud, palm my silt and

sediment, 
 

making room,

in me,

for you.


we permeate. a soft trespass,

thick and resilient. saltlike

on the tongue.
 

in elegy,
our bodies
 unthreading their slow sounds
across
 the universe, shaping and

unshaping, again and again

and again and again
 


all the gold we cannot see.  


you soak your vowels in the

butterfly notch beneath my throat

and I think,
 

we are opaque ghosts
 to
to each other
 

settling love in the faultlines
, like
little kintsugi bowls

what chrysalis will we be today

for the shape of love tomorrow?
 

and will you invade me then?