Passion Of The Day

Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the stake
Of our boat that is made out of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallow adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails. Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles, And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.