RAPUNZEL IN TEXAS WITH A RUBY RED GRAPEFRUIT
CANESE JARBOE

 
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.

 

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