Kissing Against Solipsism

I’ve listed into you—a mist of stars,
alarming warmth: if comfort thunders, floods
the nerves with light, the might of tenderness
soothes even in the screech of mass extinction.
Sleep becomes a preening bird. Sleep’s herds
of flame and color are plural as laughter,
as your dick vanished into me—and us
another matter, vast with happiness—
entire lands expanding at our seam,
collapsing, rapt with imagined orchards,
their floors swept clean and swept again, a slant
that slid you into me and sparked accord—
if kissing glitches subjectivity,
you’ve made of me a morning, shined on God.

Jessica Morey-Collins is a poet and resilience planner. She currently works as a project manager for University of Oregon’s Institute for Policy Research and Engagement, and tweets @cautiousmonster