the fourteenth of june

I want my arms to be infinite
so that they can reach the end
of the universe and mend
everything within it...

but my love, with my hands
around your neck, i feel Infinity herself
vibrating and pulsating and
attracting to repel.

time dances playfully
like the whimsical, facetious flirt it is
to faint jazz from golden years:
languorous then rushing hastily.

I am lost in the intricacies
of your face, the meticulously
chiseled beauty intimately
belonging to me in our personal infinity.

at eleven o'clock
in the middle of June,
the stars appear and the moon
dissolves into powdery chalk.

the window frames the velvet sky
draped above chimneys
squatting on rooftops that fly
like heavy-winged birds over light-footed cities.

and i watch the light turn from yellow to blue
through the constellations in your eyes
wanting, still, to be closer to you
even though you're right by my side.