The magnolias are
gone, love. The winds have blown and
shook the seeds to sheathe

someone else's thighs;
water streaked they ooze her red
petals: nectar you

suckle, ruby throat,
until the winds blow and your
silence feeds my rain.

Until my stems are empty.

09/28/2005

Author's Note: Published in the Winter 2009-2010 Vol. 2, Num. 3 issue of The Tower Journal (published as Jasmine Mann).

Posted on 03/28/2010
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