a cloud in my own soul

In another country at the river's edge
We lay down in whispering dirt,
Then tried to fix a house with hot hope.
If we live together much longer
I'll become a cloud in my own soul.
Sweet jasmine floats in a bowl,
A keyboard harbours insects
(Mites in secret laying white eggs).
I must light frankincense to smoke them out
Else the alphabets will fail.
It is written in the Kama Sutra--
They embraced not caring about pain or injury,
All they wanted was to enter each other.
This is known as milk-and-water.

[Meena Alexander, 'Closing the Kama Sutra' from Quickly Changing River: Poems]