After Karl Frost
Anticipation butters my skin
like a hot skillet jumping garlic.
You’re going to touch me and take me in.
How slowness makes our thoughts come so quick!
When our bodies meet—what will happen?
We cook a harmonious conflict:
If chilies strike, honey blocks. Who wins?
Never mind. Measuring’s an ape trick.
Instead, let’s will the soup to simmer.
I’ve pushed the meat back and seen the bone.
Your shades were parted, and your windows
stood clear. Then, through my reflected face,
I saw your greenest wishes glinting
as my shadows passed inside your space.
Your truth is true, my dear heretic:
We’re ready to slough the carapaceand let our whole bodies take the feast.
|by Gitty Duncan|