What countries wave their flags
in your green eyes?

Your chin, shaped by the zoic flint of time
a million small stokes
run before the glaclial plow

In your open mouth I hear
the slow accumulated scream of evolution

When did you learn to walk to upright?
The heavy book of a thousand subtle languages
balanced on your head

How many small, furry heads
pushed out from the open crevice of your pelvis?

I watch you from across
the cotton rug of our livingroom

Your eyes ask for a kiss

I flatten my falm, purse my lips
blow a puff of today's sweet ardor
across the eons of knowing

all those women
who became you