He sits you on the kitchen sink
Counts the opals in your mouth with his tongue
Kissing your calves and sucking your kneecaps
Makes love poems with his trachea and lungs

He’s grown familiar with your taste
He compares you to dishes of a country tantamount to a penitentiary
He remembers everything
Relishes every memory

Your skin is an analogy for the rubble and destruction
The color of olive bark
Maybe he could patch it back together with enough saliva
His plea is hidden within every caustic remark

He tries to kiss away the bruises of occupation
Of military state
Of marauders and betrayal
Of a land without a face

Your bodies do not fit together quite right
The stubble on your legs like barbwire
The sharpness of his collarbone between your thighs
The scars on his hands remind you of the remnants of “cease-fire”

His fingers glisten
His lungs are thick with carbon monoxide and flat plains
Grandfathers without skin
And babies without names

He’s fasting
Enjoys the scents of days past
Thyme and sugared lemons
He stopped praying but his faith is steadfast