Spending Syllables

I begin at the top
Cradling your sentences
on my tongue,
punctuation spilling over
breath lost in the blackening
of all other consciousness.

My fingertips progress,
wandering,
searching out the poetry
written in sensations,
in strands of hair,
and the lines of stray alphabets
on the curves of your spine.

We will rise simultaneously
straining at the apex of creativity
for an epiphany

the rest
like a jumble of
spare syllables
unhatched
will tumble
out
.