Monday, April 19, 2010

St. Aphege

He says that the curl in my hair says come here,

so I lean into him like fistful of thunder.

My teeth whiten. My body says show him

those blueberries hidden in the hems,

the peaches beneath that blouse.

And so I do. This season made of

bedsprings tells me to, and so I do.

No comments:

Post a Comment