My love for you is all the more serious when we laugh.
When your voice quickens with laughs, then
my livest parts grow still with awe,
even if my shoulders tremble with equal laughter.
I pray for the daybreak in you to last, against habit;
then I fold and shake and let it glance away,
like the light from a sudsy glass, held up for spots
against the morning windows.
It sizzles and leaves in crystal spittle,
like water flung into hot oil, a reflex:
your irretrievable, reactive light, which is
everything to me as long as our windpipes
are choked with the same degree of joy.
And while our eyes are closed in hard laughter,
sometimes I force mine open to see that flash in you
and to be knocked blind again by you, or by your light,
which is already passing in glances.
I am begging, with my eyes all over your face,
while our bodies still flicker there in laughs
at something we remembered at the same time.