1862 c/o Eileen Holmes

A hunger not refined through absence         but abundance
We shawled ourselves with it                gorged accordingly        
Waiting mouths open                Lips as pink as dragonfruit rims
While they plucked cherries from their stems
And plopped them in.

You could always hold more in your mouth than I could
And could de-rind an orange in a single flourish
And gnashed more meat from the pomegranate.

But I can mop the stopcap wine         From your neck        
Marbled, shot through with blue        Like bad fruit.
Trap the sap                 between our lips.        
Let me be the rind between your teeth, honey.
Don’t spit out the pips.

Pulpy words crushed against my palate like raspberries.
In these woods which are not exactly foxless
Briar berries grow on vines, reddening, emboldening
Whilst twilights tumble over dawns. How?

But now I’m not a question — I’m an exclamation:
I only want to be sweet for you
And leave you sticky with me.
You marvelous tyrant
Glossy-headed you
Hunger, I
Gnashing teeth and mashing
Thigh against thigh half-drunk at the sight
Of your skin, as pale as pear-innards.

Before the pith and pulp of me         spoils with need
Leaves me mealy and congealed        at your feet
Turn to me         as vines turn toward sunlight                
and feast.