This is our first kiss as I remember it:
I squeeze the wool sponge and trickles
of milk, steaming white brooks,
pour over you, spill into the bright seas of
goat-kid’s blood smeared on your breast.
My thighs and my belly burn at your touch,
I wash you; you wander me.
My skin craves to be wandered.
My hand is yours: you wind the februum,
the strip of flesh the goat has given us,
the strip of flesh my thighs and belly are
striped and stung from, you wind it
and wind it about my wrist and your wrist
until I can have no thought of pulling away:
you have made me yours to wander.
My skin craves your wandering.
My skin craves to wander you.
Your tongue is in my mouth.
We are milk and we are blood.