begins with the sight of someone
else’s eyes, voice pulled taut
by a ribbon of smoke, apples
of cheeks reddened like seawater
in the evening light.
A volcanic eruption, one body
surging toward another, determined
to scorch skin, safe
from the cloudburst outside.
Your lips are suction cups
and I a window, a whole suburb
spread with sheets drying
on clotheslines. Want the width
of your spread-eagle thighs.
No, wider. Outside, a train cries out
for our attention,
not knowing we’ve been wired
to this bed for hours, volcanic
in our bursts of pleasure,
which is to say: louder than the train.
Though we imitate its sound
against the tracks,
that familiar, fast pace.