In His Eyes I See Miniature Snow

This kiss, lips soaked-dripping with bitter milk. 
This butter curl above his ear. This lip
scrunched and pressed clumsy under freckled chin. 
This halo-pudge-body wrapped around my
neck. These hands, full of stick & hair & can-
dy residue. This place I’m allowed to love.
 
He says go up in skies, a spell for us.
My legs—full of green veins & tremble—are  
the piece of blue sky he flies over. My 
chest—creaking & pulling with empty—now 
a field of yellow horses. We chant 2—
5—6. We use his spell. My mouth the noise 
of his wings. His tongue a pinkish raincloud.
A thunder. A folding tangle. We. Us.