Whispered Chants

Begin by taking 
off your glasses. Kiss the pearl
of each eye. They brim

of dreams, amplified 
horizons loosing trails of
inner rain. Secrets you

hold for elected 
lovers. Trace salt trails of eyes 
to nose, then prism-chin –

in dimple there, the sun. 
Move up to lips; forget not
the sweet core of you:

Our tongues are snakes
wrestling for knots, for thrones. Leave
your tiara in my chest.