Saturday, October 6, 2012


Your ochre heart
Your heart lit up in blossoms

A plum tree’s bark
Funneling rain
Water to its roots

Your fig lips
Almond eyes
Your persimmon thighs

The body both student and teacher

Wisdom’s carnage
Scented with cinnamon

Carved by youth’s eviscerating scimitar

Romance does not belong
To the sea

Romance is what happens
When we cease to be
The split seeds of a pomegranate

Love an opiate breeze
Carrying the scent of apricots

Into the strewn sheets
Of delight

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