February 13, 2012

poem 44 of a poem a day for 2012

to know what's for dessert

the slide and called
vines curling time
beneath the rise
orbit of the Moon
tells me every call
to your June
nears a swoon
of my reason

here is where
the skin dares 
past the flesh
and into the soul
what loam
wouldn't want
your fingers
there to wear
in here

the wood grains
of the table night
candled and able
to mimic how 
a river of you 
cuts me through
to where I am 
hands up
and unbound

this is not
a fork and
knife feast
this is worn
boiled to a begin
this is why
Heaven knows
as much about sin
as any do
because like me
angels eat 
dessert first 

EJR (c)

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