celebrations of celebration

of the moment when 
my two front teeth
catch your dewey bottom lip
clamp a bit too tightly
and forget to let go.

of the times when i see you after hours
of not seeing you
and you loom unearthly, fawn-like,
in front of the blood moon.

of the way your hands touch 
tomatoes at the farmers market
pick persimmons for the pie
gauging ripeness
with thumbprints with teeth. 

pumpkin/lobe
nog/cell
cheese/plasma 
sprout/tongue

you feed me
full of intrigue, not worms.

i feed you, 
mammal-cozy, no fleas.

and we are swollen with celebration.