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
succulence
boiled to a begin
this is why
Heaven knows
as much about sin
as any do
because like me
angels eat
dessert first
too
EJR (c)
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