Aspirations

I want to be the mango vapor you suck
down your throat; I want to stick
sweetly in your ribs, to kindle the tinder
of your lungs. Do you feel me breathing
through you, like bellows pumping
beneath the bed frame when we fuck?
All we can do is exchange spit and air,
scented with peach and pomegranate,
until we sweat sugar like some horny
Gatorade commercial. Maybe if you blow
into me, I can rip a candy cloud to burst
the tenement walls—maybe next time
it'll be us billowing out over the sound.
 

 
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