Once I was content

with your placid thoughts

and the

quiet flame

of existence

between us

Now

I want you to think

that -everything

I say

is funny or beautiful,

that my hair

is your sun,

my eyes

your moon,

my breasts

your pillows,

my stomach

your divan

that I taste

like honey,

smell like orange blossoms,

and I am

the ambrosia

to your apathy

I am ready

to warm our hands

by the fire of possibility.