Once I was content
with your placid thoughts
and the
quiet flame
of existence
between us

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.