it is the west, and you are the moon

     the sun is setting
     and soft light spills in
     to rest in the cup
     of your cheekbones
     like my breath fills the dip in your collar

     overflowing and rolling like fog
     over the early-morning meadow of your chest

     so that i have to kiss
     down your ribs
     and rest my lips on your navel
     to breathe it all in

     to keep it from rising into the room
     and blocking out the stars