Jeweled Breath

Crawl into my pre-sleep
beckon me back to the porch
night, you didn't lie
next to me. You faced me,
painting the salty air
with brilliant jewels,
decadent flowers.

That night we sat askew
on wet sand of the full moon
beach we dug our toes into.
"Keats," you whispered.
"Nabokov," you beat through me.

Wildly, you abandoned
my fingertips and earlobe,
cast revolutions, blazing
make-up drag queens, and
Salome, kneeling.

You handed me
a basket of asps.

Holly Martin