With my breast in your mouth
What to do with my hands
when you push my breast into your mouth
and begin to suck the honey and marrow from inside my skin,

pull my flesh up like a hypnotized Christ-figure
beckoning the lightness of my soul upward,
like actors from a cinematic melodrama.

What to do with my mind while you go on and on,
finger and knead the texture of my body, slide your hands up
and down, touch every angle, although you
do not explore, your gestures more like motions
not emotions dealt like cards across my bones,
my stomach sighs, my lips let loose a moan,

it doesn't matter.

What to do with my poems when I am
flat on my back exposed without
words to remember the event of
ecstasy behind your shuttering eyebrows;

what words can I used to describe the
vulnerability of your posture, laid back and
spent while I circle the room like a vulture
nude and at odds with myself.