16

I lose myself in the space at the base
Of your neck, the wood hollow, a place
Where rainwater collects and birds sing,
The smoothest pool for my longing.

I want to lay my tongue in the groove
Of flesh, below the bone cupola.
I want to stay there and not to move,
To taste your skin of magnolia.

I lose myself in the space at the base
Of your neck, all sense of self erased.

— Dave Malone

For more love poems, see 23 Sonnets. This poem was published in Every Day Poems.

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photo by Kelly Sauer

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