fruit/fresh dreams.

December 4, 2013 § Leave a comment

at my door a fruit I don’t know how to eat

she’s still up there, shaking the tree with her

small hands, belly

curling up with the pleasure

of each ‘phlump’

 

at my door a fruit I don’t know how to eat

if it had been you

if it had been you, hands heavy with the trail

of something from front door to corridor

to there no

 

you shall not remember

your name on my quick lips

nevermind my determination to forbid break-ins

of any kind- heart, home, here I am, and

 

at my door, a fruit I don’t know how

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