S o m a t a

Mar 10, 2008 - 21:19 PM PST

I want to taste peridot and lace appliqué,
the arches in Arles, let the Strand
stomp over each taste bud –
bitter on the way to bewitching –
lick along the dorsum, ready flexed.

I want to smell the midnight red
from each lunar eclipse, a world
naked in updraft, the unwind,
inside, pressed against the hard palate,
clung to arms of almond paste.

I want to hear the yellow softness
sizzle and sigh with golden fingers
that slide across the pinna, balance,
vibrate, and safe against a too bright
fog and fade among unforgotten funnels.

I want to touch the center of 4 a.m.,
after palms emptied of slippery charm,
between the spaces of metacarpal and ulna,
fingers that sift through surprasternal grooves,
loose with new endings worn like nakedness.