If I eat your face, I am insane.
If I nibble on your lip, I am in love.
Such distinctions to keep in mind.

If I give you my right hand and not the left,
I want you to lay me across the bed of the day,
sing songs into wherever I open. If

I offer you my left, I plan on shaking hands
with the rest of the world while you sip
from the cupped hands of yesterday.

If I walk past our building, look up and you are there,
the rules of distance will collapse.
If I eye the rough tongue of pavement,

bicycles will roll un-ridered down city streets
into the chaos at traffic lights, the decisions
of stop or go, turn or straight, hope or cry.

If your voice swirls in the cups of my ears,
I will collect its letters, stash them in a jar
in my chest. If you come to claim them,

we can spread them on the table, build towers,
knock them down. We can make
our own game’s rules, then cheat.

Original appearance in B O D Y, an essential online literary magazine.