Your lips, l'dodi
my beloved
your coffee coolers
full and rich with color
like the wheat fields of Alberta
colored with the warm-reddish hue
of evenings twilight
against the walls of the Allahambra
or the holy blood colored rock
in the Australian outback
that the Aborgines worship.

Your lips, l'dodi
with their many vertical cracks
reminding me of
Yosemite's Half-Dome;
waiting for me to come
and probe.

Your breath, l'dodi
sometimes warm moist breath
like the Red Sea tides
waiting to sweep me away.

Dry breath
like the Hazon: the dry summer wind of the Sinai
sucking away my eternal life-blood,
or wet, cold breath in the morning
like the Galilee winter winds
waiting to be warmed
by the light of day.