The arduous climb from shoulder to jaw --
slopes aren't meant to be ascended -- only
descended -- only rushed by the very shape of it --
a way to get from A to B, and quickly.
A nape-kiss snags on invisible obstacles;
the sigh that's found a home there, the orb of pulse,
the indefinable, the ungraspable,
the very essence of you.
Here is a place to live: the curve of neck, a place
to sleep. We trade from lip to skin to lip
to skin the kernel of what passes for love between us,
and stop --
the climb to jaw seems so long --
from here, the ridge still seems welcoming.