|
La Poir Hautaine |
You, who were
too high, have
fallen. Your blush
now browns toward
bruise. You, who
dizzied the bees
with the sway
of your bountiful
bottom, who flirted
behind your green
fan, not one
picked. Your sweet
signals, first coy
then cloying, seduced
sudden sparrows whose
mocking kisses pricked
into pocks, as
those who rode
the boughs below
suggested themselves to
hands, their still
sticky spill warming
summer’s willing lips
copyright 2009
Tracy
Koretsky |
