covered by your hands and feet
blowing off dead fruit flies from apples and mangoes
in your father’s kitchen
glasses standing in rows like transparent legionnaires
sharping bayonets
eating with your hands, sleeping with your heart
homeless dog, rail tracks, ruined house, needles
next to a field
overrun with wild poppies
rooted deep with their mouths wide open
unsettled and ready
to eat the blueness of my skies
to utter words
whisper consolation in the fat grass
the dirt of the earth
the permanence
solitary spiders quivering
my mother cutting a pomegranate in four, even halves
the first that I have ever tasted
seeds spilling out from your mouth like stones
the splendidness of your face
the pale moon of it
our bodies twisted and bent on my floor
my impatient legs and your hard manhood in the garden
of my overripe, heavy, tender pears
the molasses that I licked off your tongue
when you planted yourself inside my earth
