Ode

The spheres of you
are other worlds
between which I would
wander, blissfully.

Eyes, twin suns of
brightness undefined,
that nurture leaves
of me, though few.

Breasts of honeyed dew
that rest, compressing
feeble blades of grass
within my soul.

And the full womb,
greatest sphere of all,
where my branches stroke
that part of me in you.