The kitchen smelled of garlicky soup and sex.
I wanted both.

He walks the battlefield
steps over corpses
collects swords, shields, to stack
in piles.

The sun is a flaming orange
afro, teased and fluffed, spilling
its nectar on hot concrete sidewalks,
evaporating like exhaust-fume mirages,
just beyond my reach.

The cheese I know comes from the beautiful cows, cows as beautiful as princesses that graciously graze on the deep grass, grass as salty as the sea, grass as green as the emerald lake of your dreams.

My shirt and jeans are off.
I’m undressing.
I’m closing this day down.

the privateer at my door
salty gatekeeper guarding my treasure
with brass bones

Your house has carpets
like hands, like the tongues of whales
licking me to nothing but a bone