Morning Sex



Girl with candy apple knees, when I am
inside of you, we are the same creature,
a two-headed, eight-limbed thrum, calm frenzy,

a word. Crucified against paper
and imagined sunrises, even the night,
with albino eyes, aches for your braids.

A birdless morning never knew
the flex of a strong-thighed woman.
Somewhere between faith and intuition,

I found you in that place where Bacchus spilled
wine, where, on hands and knees, blind gods stabbed
tornadoes into the Earth and angels

escorted the wind on bicycle
handlebars, and I vowed to tell you
that I love you until my mouth breaks.


Linden Avenue Literary Journal (2012)


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