whisper to me,
in a language from across the atlantic ocean
let those hot, liquid letters
roll off your tongue like
raindrops rolling out of heavy grey clouds
to splash down on my face.

whisper to me,
speak words that i do not know,
hold your lips against my ear and breathe,
softly murmur to me your foreign dreams
and stroke calloused, olive-skinned fingers
against my skin, so pale next to yours.

take me with you,
to your home in the countryside
of hills brushed with green, studded with
sun-kissed citrus trees and
teach me to ride a horse without a saddle;
our easy laughter will fill the village well to the brim.

drink with me,
sip cool, pure paradise from my cupped hands
for it will never again taste as sweet as it does now
in the dappled silver light of the moon, without
acrid city lights snaked around her throat to
cut off her full-bodied song.

whisper to me,
in a language from across the atlantic ocean
we will – the two of us – weave a blanket
of wordless passion and fear still raw from
being torn through tight, reluctant lips,
our hands sewn together in a pattern of light and dark.