I kiss your hair, dark with olives and pomegranates and the smoke of campfires

I kiss your hair, dark with olives and pomegranates and the smoke of campfires;

I kiss your brow, copper and good and crown-ready;

I kiss your eyes; my lips see you there in my princely robe, the most beautiful you;

My lips see me there, discovered, the most beautiful me;

I kiss your nose and your cheeks with three hummingbird kisses

And float upon the upwelling heat of our shimmering hills.

Ah, and there are your lips!

Should I kiss them, or should I worship them only in my imagination?

These familiar paradises that restore me,

These sheltered valleys where I contentedly roam.

Ah, and there are your lips!