An Author's Affair

by: Shannon Wong

At first you are slender and cold

in my hand, then capillary-marbled-sparks

jump the gap between this sheet

and my dendrites outspread-dangling mycelia,

tickling my nose as I inhale-exhale. 
 

We are warm.

We are one. 
 

You scrabble along the sheet,

black-contrails-crossing,

squid-like, pushing, barely lifting for

a breath before cutting deeper

until the sheet bleeds with you. 
 

We are warm.

We are one. 
 

When we are spent, I wipe my brow

and smear you on my lips---

you taste like pennies---

I dip you in the inkwell,

and we begin anew.