Apr/May 2016 Poetry |
Untitled
With her name in your mouth
more than a word, a morning
and everywhere on Earthat the same time, in daylight
though once every year
you eat an apple in silenceas if a whisper
could pull the stars down
closer and closer to one anotherand from your mouth a second sun
that has no shadow yet
would warm your lips holding onas mountainside and one last look
at her eyes that tell you nothing
—this apple you drag neareris also a word, has your voice
your useless jaws, your darkness
next to her breasts and around them.