Size / / /
Come to me, girl,
in deltaic procession—
I will cleanse you first in bone-white salt;
fall with me to the loam,
and together we will lose what
history knows nothing of.
I will kiss you
on the mouth, and then with
a sweet-fingered caress
play a scherzo along your spine.
We dovetail.
Publication of this poem was made possible by a donation from Jessica Eanes. (Thanks, Jessica!) To find out more about our funding model, or donate to the magazine, see the Support Us page.