Slip of the Tongue

If I look across the river
In the evening’s purple-gold
I can see you — swear to god —
Walking up along the shore
Or seated on the high rocks
Carved for resting after tours
Letting vapor slip from those
Plump lips of yours.

If I look long enough into a mirror
I feel you enter in the frame —
Rather be caught drowning in your eyes’ ore
Than swimming lonesome in that pane;
Rather be too close to see myself
Lashes kissing, nose to nose, 
And keep myself close to those
Plump lips of yours.

&  maybe on the exhale 
I might let slip what I’ve been gnawing:
The thought that I might love you 
like the sun does love the morning.