curved fingers dipped in gold gripping plums
like palms purpled from the beating of strong winds and summer sun--
when pressed to lips they shiver and bleed flavor of shadows and breaking down liver
i carve a bucket from my thigh and let you drop them in so as not to bear the weight
my excuse is your arms are twigs and my legs are branches
licking the skins of figs the leaves leave shapes burned to our bellies
your gray wisps whip my lips and i tell you my sin
my secret of the snake and how i starved it to death
bagged it and buried it beneath the orchid that no longer blooms and is home
to a garden spider
No comments:
Post a Comment