

Lift your arms gossamer girl and let me see your teeth.
They have words stuck in them like poppy seeds.
I am in love with every dark spot.
I can hear your toes slip in your rain filled shoes.
Take them off and I’ll drink from your slipper.
This is not a love poem. It is a bird, dizzy,
besotted on cherries and yellow bruised plums.
I am just its cage, the wire it beats against
on windy days like this.