even a little,
even a pine tree,
even a sea.
When I kissed her
she tasted like gunmetal cities
pricked with soapy, foaming green:
strange-bred grasses clutching at air,
like a polished sheet of polar ice,
and she dancing upon it, a new kind of beast,
feet blue and bare,
heedless, atavistic, her hair an explosion
which, of course, is red,
could never have been anything other
than red.
In her kiss,
she walks naked through Hellas Planitia;
her pilgrim road all on fire, under crystal,
under a golden sizzle of solar wind.
Her teeth on my lips I watch her buy
this memory from a bazaar,
drink krill from a pink glass vial,
mate with a toad-skinned boy,
and hold against her small breasts
an ultraviolet bubble
wherein she and I are kissing,
forever,
so very like living things.
When I kissed her
she tasted like two moons tumbling,
gleaming, old bones cast into the sky