voluptuous;
i take shelter
in cast iron alchemy,
a place where GOD
becomes familiar
and i become unclothed.

as line
and white space
and a pair of pink, pink lips
would have me speak
i speak
and say there is magic
in the salmon;
magic mighty enough to fight the bear.

and i taste peace
in the cask
where water sits as spirit,
waiting to flood over the room
like does light through the window
from the post
in the street.  

i take my repose
in a woman
that can fill my mouth
with the whole calendar
and can fill my flesh
with the feeling of home.