Orange melts the meat of pink into blue
Organs finding bones, seeking warmth
Falling indigo patches of night
Into my pocket
To save the dark
As heat springs life into morning

Liquid-lipped sun
drips pleasure
unto the sea-wet tangling of hips
licking drunk sweat tendrils
slinking behind ears.
We fall asleep,
Baring kiss
to the skin beside us
Bearing body
to the drool of afternoon.

Who but afternoon

Susurrations of heat speak?

Where but earth

Stars feed

(As electrons sway

And pour through walls;

Spin gold to sugar,

Greenly tasted

By the lips of mammalian tongues

Eating fat

With gardens and stolen glucose) ?

Incapable of creation -

Who, but we,

Devour?

Cumulous pillows
of insomniac depravity
drizzle keen pulp
unto the eye, hair wetting
mattress - springing
metal spasms
upon the spine of those
who dream.
Mellow morning
saltily floats up
from morbid
somnambulations

With my whole body I taste these peaches,
I touch them and smell them.  Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine
Absorbs Anjou.  I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring
And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks?  But it must be that I,
That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at
Heart.  The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!
They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village
And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.
The windows are open.  The sunlight fills

The curtains.  Even the drifting of the curtains,
Slight as it is, disturbs me.  I did not know

That such ferocities could tear
One self from another, as these peaches do.

Dark
(Whose solace makes from my fibers sanctuary)
Floods — asomatous noyade beginning with a drip —  the splanchnic organs
Sweet like honey drops light
From celestial bodies
Unto my parted lips, breath-warm tongue.
(still) the moon
Bending my cheek to kiss
Exhales in quiet caress
As night sinks and drifts

The vestments
of winter (skin revealed
as lilac
granite) rest
- trembling fingers of your stomach hold
the bending fabric-
in my melancholic coughing