how hollow a memory reads on screens
when atop— we were on a bed a king's bed we kings
sloped forward, our foreheads warmed and glowed.
Out of your mouth, the air, the window, out from space
some starlight sang and you slurred diamonds, riches
spices, you Spoke to me.

Simultaneously, cocooned in blush and stretched lips,
I forcefully smiled into plush and experienced birth by
means of hiding my face so you wouldn't fear the colour
crooning from my eyes, the colour I turn each time you're
near.

I could have been plucked from that instant, been grooved
pressed and pulled, I could have been seeded worldwide
and I say with no heavier truth than this:
I would have grown the world over.