2 poems

By despy boutris

Ode to mouth

after e.e. cummings

i like my mouth (i like it when
it is on your mouth). i like the thrum
of your beating heart and heat.
i like your mouth. i like its anatomy,
its wetness, the ridges on the roof,
the swords of your incisors. i like
the swell of the sore on the underside
of your lip and the slickness
of your tongue. i like your tongue.
i like its softness. i like the mold
of your mouth,
the bow and curves
of your lip,
the meat of your cheeks
and your smooth teeth
customarily clashing with mine
in our frenzy of kiss after kiss after kiss.
i like kissing this mouth of yours,
your neck, your wrists, your clavicle,
your hips. i like tasting the molasses
of your parting lips,
your olive skin,
your sweet breath
and kiss. i like your mouth
(i more than like your mouth). i like
its shape, its tissue, it opening, agape.
and, certainly,
i like your mouth
on me.

What I want

A good-morning kiss. Mangoes from Mexico.
A meadow to fuck in. Two tickets
to Tennessee, because I’ve never been
to Tennessee, and what even is in Tennessee?
A hug from my mother. Birch trees breaking
into wholeness. The sound of your voice
branding the atmosphere, music notes
filling each particle of long-forgotten wood.
Answers. To see the sun rise on the West side
of the country, just once, and for flowers
to bloom on command. Rain, and rain-
soaked leaves to dance in the dark. Spiders
weaving a net strong enough
for when we inevitably fall. And me?
Mending. Desire. Poets fossilizing love.
To pluck a plum from the tree outside.
Birdsong.