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Her breasts (like salad bowls)
by Christina Gleasonand hips like porcelain plates:
Her cracking enamel, getting old,
banging tea cup knees
clinking against back bone--
gold leaf shrapnel
erupting at climax, to the toes.
Her griddle
chest and tumbler throat,
ridged and full to her
forked tongue ,
the dull silver bowl
of her growling belly.
Our meals and meals
of her soup spoon eyes,
holding frying pan hands,
her fingers fumbling
like butter knives.
09/15/2003 Author's Note: i like the first stanza of this, but i haven't yet got the rest to flow as smoothly.
Posted on 09/15/2003
Copyright © 2024 Christina Gleason
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