Your roots must burn inside the oven of my thighs
To burst in me your burgeons of the sun at night.
To melt the wounding blades of blue inside your eyes
My flesh must flower with your touch of silent fire.
My tongue must ripen in the jungle of your mouth
To drop your vows of seeds -- my vowels -- on the ground.
Your walls must rise between my ceiling and my floor
To shield my tiny sprouts of words within your throat.