RAPUNZEL IN TEXAS WITH A RUBY RED GRAPEFRUIT
Mostly, the intimacy of red is too much
for morning. My tongue, I hold with sugar
spoon. I could eat a whole magnolia
blossom, full-bloom/silver filling
in his back tooth/two blonde French
braids/red clay and bull thistle, a ditch full.
Why is this the inside of everything? It is
catfish heart or pussy or tomato rotting
or peony or you. I don’t keep my sweet
where you think. I keep it in my spit. I tell
the waitress I don’t need no honey/drool
unbroken over all that blush.