03 June 2006

McLean Avenue, Woodlawn

the moon on Christmas night: flat jewel,
communion host, pearlish rays
radiate round, milkwhite soft

such streams I would catch for
you in my eyes, throw them back
upon the page, white showing

beneath the black, as that moon
sharpcut ivory atop the sky, hanging
heavy with promise, benificent, beaming

down into my pale orbs, glassy at such
a sight, eagerly feeding you
from the meat of my heart, chilled

and silent on the sideboard, festive
garnish now knife-riddled, stabbed with
tine of fork, though the delicious crackling

of burnt fat still tempts the tongue,
invites a sweet, a
sweet devouring

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