I woke for a woman all tooth and whispered want. Like the oven she was
warm when met and cold when done. She was second cousin to God. She
kneaded me, and her fingers spanned the sun.
But then she chopped and cut. Nonplussed, I ran
away from the kitchen smell of cinnamon and cayenne, away from the
bedroom smell of thrust and come. Road iced with foxglove, with horse,
pig, cook, and cook's man. Never mind pursuit. I've no need for breath.
I'm faster than. Run, run, run, as fast as you can.
The river glints, a knife in the land.
The fox waiting there is wild laughter: is to ashes as petals are to
dust. Fur to blossom to this pure, this perfect, lust. Pursuit
clamors. Wind chews the water. Her eyes are the sun as she speaks of
trust. I leap onto her back, telling myself, perhaps to truly love
you have to risk being undone.