There are some snakes that hibernate,
They stay in my cranium,
Curled up and seemingly sleeping,
Waiting to dance in my dreams,
Or to live in words written in invisible ink,
Letters written in a mirror.

Your words rise and fall,
(Remember e.e. cummings from high school?),
Your voice through the wires,
Your face and chest, an image on my monitor,
Your words rise and fall,
Like grape soda through a straw,
The purple bubbles foaming towards my mouth,
My lips sucking you in,
You say “hot”, and now I’m wet.

I know what I want,
My snakes are here in my open palm,
(You say “hot”, and now I’m wet.)
I’m holding them out to you – a gift,
They wave coolly to you,
As if you are a snake-charmer in a fairy tale,
Or they are ocean foliage,
(It all comes back to water),
You smile, open mouthed and tongue tip showing,
Your hands reaching out.