A beautiful view from the roof of my mouth

I thought you were a parachute.

Now instead the trees are pillows.

Last May I dipped in pitch and lit my heart

in slapdash effigy of the way the sun bounces 

off your eyes. 

Silly of me. Clandestine at best

of course but I’d rather be stupid

than inanimate, and one crisis in the shower per week

is the price of a fumbling, earnest past. 

So paint me in melted copper, since regret is hot

and should never be suggested by anything blue

or by oil on any canvas untrampled.

In winter

I will lend you the warm spot

in my housefire.

Please recline in the dark

on the roof of my mouth; 

let’s kiss and watch Alaska

on the T.V.

Theres snow enough there

for us both to melt entirely.