Myself and the Queen of Sheba

Yogurt in your tongue tips off the edge
of the teeth, sweet like the sun here.
Hknuhau Beach sun-blind. Wave to Jocelyn and Celia
in the sea, to Shadda on the rocks sunning himself.

This is a list of things I have liked:
Myself, the Queen of Sheba,
Torino tomatoes dried in the sun.
The eye of a fish I once saw dead on the beach,
intact and glaring at everyone who passed.
This is a list of things that pleased me,
whether for their sweetness like
sugar around the rim of a glass,
or their tang like a mouth made of orange
inside it, bobbing and floating,
or like the drink itself because it quenched
or refreshed me.

You are inside me, bobbing and floating,
intact but only in this instance dancing
with your albatross lips creased and folded
from a hundred laughs. Only in this instance do I
dictate and nuance this correctly, shaking the lights
to replenish the electricity, shaking my hair
on and off the nape of my neck. Inkwells
all over the country sidle up to me,
bobbing and floating with
the Queen of Sheba.