dreamsamelia

Pick Me

In Burst of Laziness on March 15, 2012 at 5:32 pm

If you picked me,
I might ripen
like a peach
in your palm…

Who would be there
to whisper
immortal warnings
of the vine?

Not the sun,
shining her fine ray
between us,
divining an
ever-narrowing
crevice between flesh,
gingerly slitted open,
tilted lips,
and trickles,
slathering nectar upon
ache divided.

When dicey hunger revives,
my sisters
remain on the vine,
wrapped up tight.

~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~

I hold hands with Death all day,
trying to avoid racing Him.
Even while I cannot resist athletes,
hospitals show
you can’t trade life for
buckets of money:

As He nears the finish line,
money is cheap
talk is rich
but nothing buys time.

It makes me want to swindle
Death with sex

But
I have to play tennis
in the hospital like invalids do:
with a volley of  mere words,
hoping if I served you
just one
it would take you on a journey
where I could be the ball
you served again and again:

love

~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have to concede, this may be a partially resplendent world, at times.

When else but now, in the perennial tussles between peasants and tyranny,
could you order up a fabulously wealthy boyfriend on the internet?
With the press of a button here,
a few light key strokes there,
out of the infinite reaches of cyberspace,
you walked up and shook my hand.

I was never looking for that monotonous measure
of most of the world’s currencies,
that pays pennies for people in order to pour millions into mansions,
and will never know the true value
of a pesticide-free tomato.

But you have proved your wealth to me
in tiny aliquots
of attention
wresting
an alchemy
between common elements of my body
and uncommon elements of my mind
twisting
and dripping me
till nothing is measurable
and everything is redefined
resting

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