Andso,whatofthiskiss? This heat,more noisethan splash, through eachsplayed featherof the swanrinsed in the lake.
Is therea necessarydifference betweenheartbeatand humidity?
The predictablehuman bodyeasily missed, as a motionlessgreat blue heron, a stick of a bird.
In the middle of the roada baby snapping turtleforgot where it was,waited for an interruptionasleep in a box made for a ring.
The crabapple flowersprefer notto suffocate their beesunlike Pariswhen he snatchedthe most beautiful woman. She neednot be asked.
What scentveiled inthis loose hair, swept around the neck. Ought to be cuteven thoughit will grow back. It is a trick,if there isenoughto pull.The uprightneck of the swanlong like an arm,or a forgotten kissbeneath a filmof cloudsand what ofthese teeth, this tongue,this pure heatas the sun crawls along my window.
(previously published in Porkbelly Press, Myth+Magic)