I love the unknown in you, the unfair, the shy backs of your knees, the colony of dimples that sleep in moon-shaped huts leaning toward your mouth. —Dave Malone From O: Love Poems from the Ozarks . . .
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 . . .