where is a poem?

I always thought a poem was in

the thick gold of afternoon sun

and how it fell briefly upon the world 

like a passing lover

I thought you could find a poem 

if you travelled outwards

or looked at the world

in the right

light

But recently I am coming 

to the conclusion that a poem

is a sturdy thing

it can survive all kinds of light

I think it lives 

in the fleshy heart of my mouth

the usual

the scent of you lingers on my skin for hours
after you leave. I have lain in bed with you so long
it feels like I am still there.

it is all about comfort, you assured me,
and we laughed a golden laughter
in a new room.

I am trying to write poetry that is wild
but well-contained, sharpened like a weapon,
extra metal all peeled off the sides
and scrubbed so well
I can see blue skies
reflected in silver.

love and poetry always find their place
on my tongue at the same time.