Wrapping the rice cakes,
with one hand
    she fingers back her hair.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

She was born to love the moon while
his songs hailed to the sun.
Twins, twins, twins, twins, the words sound.

Her hair is short and dark when
his is long and light.
She hunts and swears and shouts,
he sings and dances and laughs.
Twins, twins, twins, twins, the words sound.

Frost covers her mouth and
his lips are warmer than the sun.
Her kisses are harsh like winter and his
are soft and sweet like midsummer rain.
Twins, twins, twins, twins, the words sound.

The plum I’ve been waiting
to ripen
is a bit past ripe; in the fruit bowl,
the bananas speckled brown;
the lemons show no sign of age.

Monday morning I forget the plum,
which now may be a bit too sweet.
Thursday,
I buy fresh produce
on the way home.
I get a call
from my father
about my mother.

Forgotten,
beneath brighter flora,
the plum
in royal colors
sits in the bottom of the fruit bowl.

At home
two Google searches:
what to make with past ripe plums
why don’t I cry when someone dies

You gorgeous *******.
I like you.

Nights become bearable when
Your dream is pressed up against you
Softly her heartbeat drowns out every worry.