In town they call you river-goddess.
Your nose is the narrow cliff of their life source.
The dripping faucet bids you home to the river...
Your place is in this sun-baked room made of our liquid love.
Your dark unruly hair makes the lawn of our bed fragrant.
Your limbs are collapsed towers accepting a delicious fate.
I eat and drink you for all these days that you let me.
Now I cannot go back to earthen food or water.
Your voice is a small house that I can live in,
Your lips the swift portal of a laboring man's bliss.
I enter your voice through your lips and sleep well in Saigon,
In the afterglow of a slumber I never wake from.
