Sunday, December 21, 2014


Fearful for the purple in your skin,
    the blood that wants to get out.
   It is good for people to be honest
    with one another.  To see the way enfolded.
      You are rose pepper
        and fructose flyer, searching
         my kitchen for rations,
        marauding with silks in the bed room,
          reminding me why I was alone for so long
        and why I will never want to be alone again.

Bring me powerfully to the threshold of self
   to torch barriers and watch them hold without spite,
    impregnating us both with
          cheese waffles, rice cakes,
              and vinegar salad,
  while in the country of minutes from now
I kiss your well-trimmed flaps,
      tryingly, like someone asking
                a servant to save his life.

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