God's Giggle

Run away with me to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
 We'll climb a peak
 and contemplate the fragility of our intertwined fingers.

Sometimes I wonder if the gods of past, present, and future
 created humans in curious jealousy of the absurd.
 What is holier than the evening plum of our mouths,
 kissed raw?

If we are absolutely built new
every 7 years,
If the I is only an agreement in stream of memory,
and if we are made of far-flung atoms,
still many lightyears to go,
what more joyfully rebellious act is there?

We may only be the spittle from god's cough
(You know they don't cover their mouth),
 and I don't care.
I'll laugh at god as I laugh softly into your mouth.

Let them be transcendental signified;
meaning is referential,
and ours will be reverential.

So, let me kiss you
with cherry blossoms blooming in the pocket of my lip -
all gruff good manners, desert dusk, and spring sweetness.
 Kiss with the humor of an infinite number of dying stars and back.