Peacock

Our excess

Champagne never let my lips dry

Gliding on your touch

which hovers me

like a rainbow

And zippers follow 

hungry fingers

Nevertheless

What has 

been made-

this music of feathers-

is made in stone;

in the bones

and will float forever

in unending drift

peacocks weave in

they don't even feel the shift

they make a scene of 

our quiet

effervescent

love

our royal cobalt indigo kiss

but one can not 

rush my blood

and I don't spread these colors

for just anyone

so as the zipper falls

and I come undone

be amazed for me

in the blue blaze 

of a non-repeating heart

and let our excess 

be our art