My Tongue Finds Itself
My tongue finds itself
on the roller coaster of your breasts,
taking spins around each
hardening nipple, swooping one
to the other, taut as a dart,
spreading to scoop the heavy swell
then relaxing to circle the shy navel
in one long turn, taking it slow
on its way to where it was always going,
over the ticklish lawn
to the front door
where openness begins,
where memory begins,
where speech begins,
my tongue finds itself
rolling its r’s, tolling its time
into the darkness of your belly,
pressing its tip against the tip
of your body,
miniature counterpart,
unmediated flesh,
clean, hard, stark,
as returning kiss for kiss,
word for word, jab for jab,
in the salt of its daring,
in the delta of its beginning,
my tongue finds itself.