By | 1 October 2010

Your window
at my throat: the vaseline of strawberries

& musk. I rode
your lips lustrous, a smitten

interior, bride’s breath
broke open with salt

silk mixed in the singing
palms of apple trees.

Your hand stripping
the red from my hermit door

it goes down. Narcotic
oils the theatre of eros. All

the hunger a voice holds,
warm vowels in the bread of night, wanting

each maverick piece—all the derelict streets
of leg hair, burlesque music

shining in the temple fibres, maroon
sinews, dark woman

star. Dark
nights of soul.

So slow our cusp
slips opulent hallelujah!

A litany of comets
milking up the sky

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