Untitled Memory #2

Your whole body holds a goblet
Of gentle sweetness destined for me.
When I let my hands climb
In each place I find a dove
That was looking for me, as if
My love, He had made you of clay
For my very own potters hands.

Your knees, your breasts, your waist
Are missing in me, like in the hollow
Of a thirsting earth,
Where they relinquish a form,
And together we are complete
Like one single river,
Like a single grain of sand.