My Song of Myself

I kiss myself,
To taste myself-
My tongue longs
To drink
Breathing beauty-
Alive and real
And me

And

In my mouth,
I am sweet
Like cherry blossoms or
Honey

Like breaths taken after
The kisses of sonnets
That have slept inside themselves too long.

I am like nectar on the tongues
Of humming birds;
That birth spring and
Breathe innocence into the
Stifling rays of May.

And the breath of me
Whispers deep
And will wrap you up
Like a blanket,
Inside of me...


And I am
Like home.

My hips,
Are full,
They dance viciously,
And vibrantly.
They are every color of
This life.

And
They love themselves;
Hold themselves,
Adore themselves
With poise...
Grace
And subtle, tender, sweetness.

They soak in the fingertips
That use them.
Of passer-byes that have loved them,
Too much or too little
That pressed into them with anger
And rage,

Or sadness-and desperation-

To drink them up,

When my soft,
Perfect toes
Beg to run away.

And my neck is stained
With kisses of forgiveness,
And jealousy.
It is where I hold my spite,
And vicious weapons;
Pridefully.

It is covered with marks of beauty.
One or two-
Freckles that decided to leave their lips on me.
To cover up the truth

That my throat is no filter,
Where a filter should be.

And my tongue is
Sharp like a blade;
The shiniest razor-
That will cut you to the quick,
And make you bleed soft and sweet.

Or it will kiss you so deep,
Your feet can't breath-
Or think to run away from the catastrophe of me.

And you'll fall in love with me.
And not be able to pull away.
And wrap me up so tight...
And my chest will beg you stay-

So I can love you.
Forever,
And my hips might resent you.
At fingers' threat to pull away.

But still-
Without you,
I am.
Me.

Like the pastels that breath themselves
Into the ages of the oak table-
That leave their dreams inside
The seams of
The able wood.

Or the song of a watercolor dream-
That dresses and undresses itself-
And uncovers
The naked truths to the world...

Of Me.

And I am everything
That is touchable,
And taste-able
And tangible.
And right and real.

Everything beautiful;
That has crossed it's bare feet
On the hot pavements of rage,
Soaked itself in
The sadness of rain;
That is suffocated in the
Breathlessness of passion.

Everything
That sways
It's violent branches in and out
Of my chest...

This life that hums
And drums underneath my breast
On the chords of my heart,

To the deepest ounces of me.

And every song of me is sweet.
From the freckles of my skin,
To the threads
Of the fiber of who I am.

And I am truth;
My leaves luminous;
Every light.

I am the spring,
That is carried by the Autumn-
The Autumn Jade that I am.

Your truth-
That will use every drink of myself,
My lips,
My chest-
My lungs,
My everything
That will breath this life,
This air,
These seasons...

Into you.