Sky Scrapes

Cajeta
(“burnt milk” after reading
poemas de la erosion by Mariano Zaro)

My breast still wet
from the talisman
of your kisses. I can forgive
when your lips swollen
with thirst skim the surface,
their burnt milk scalds
toward the center
your lids half closed
soft as a rabbit’s
as your tongue covers
rasberry aerola— a sliver
of my dream still alive.
I watch you suckle
like a hungry boy
holding it in both hands
as you rest your face on the pillow
and me, separate somehow
like a painter rubbing
the last bit of moonlight
on your cheeks, the canvas
already fading,
curls up, disappears.