Vintage Incense

Your eyes speak of a strange absurdity,
a nakedness of stars
cleaving my periphery of moons and stars.
Stillness. Solitude. Numbness.
I am ready to announce my curve of wet words
cascading on your waist,
the chillness like blue swirl,
a vintage incense of romance.
Skewered, obtuse like lotus and petals,
I swim in the warm blanket
of lanterns and rosemary eyelids,
somewhere like a poppy and a dream.
wild, origami flowers.
yes you, you sit upon my bosom,
like a bumblebee of lust,
raw acts of time slapping my cheeks.