My skin covered in goose flesh as if you are there with me, your own fingers grazing against my bare skin

The fine hairs electrified, standing up towards the sky as if they could pull away from my skin to long even more for your touch

How I long for you to lap away at me like Dionysus in his glutinous ecstasy

Drunk off the flora of my fauna

But your supplication ever so persistent and wanton, a desire you beg for

A steady eagerness, more you state through husky breath, a guttural growl from your loins

You appeal to the longing desires I have sought for centuries

For me to be your chosen one

My ruling power of Venus

Entraps your lust holding you tightly

Deeply now intertwined my power a steady force you can’t resist, but melt into an ecstasy

Letting go of these preconceived notions of what you only allowed yourself to want

Fully surrendering to me

Near the shore a flapping swoops up from the brush,
a shock of gray-blue feathers scooping air–
what Yeats’ swan must have sounded like,
“its great wings beating still”–

Into my Beau’s red Dutch oven, they go. Diced:
onion, celery, into hot oil. Allow to simmer.

Leaf and cane like a blackberry.

Sweet, a mix between a raspberry

and a blackberry, once the fruit turns

black. Pulls off with the slightest tug.

Has a center hollow like a raspberry

but smaller than either.

Seeds are formidable

They ask the poet
how he’d prefer to be killed. 
Boiled in oil, he says. 
But won’t that hurt quite a bit?
Oh yes, he says, but that rhyme!

we figure it out as babies:
that thumb and forefinger
can pinch, like a crab,
and lift small objects

as a child, when our 
brothers and uncles
(and bullies at school) use
thumb and forefinger
to pinch our skin–
ha ha, funny joke

as a child we learn, usually
from our parents,
that the forefinger can be
pointed at us,
accusingly,
to let us know
we were bad

growing up, we quickly
adopt the pointing forefinger,
to call out something bad
our sister did, or to
draw attention to 
something at a distance,
say, an ice cream truck

not long ago, we used our forefingers
to dial rotary phones, now we
use them to stab at the screen
of our “smart” phones or
peck out a poem on
our keyboards

musicians, playing
different instruments,
would agree few could play
without the forefinger,
which tends to get
a large number of
the melody notes

hell, we couldn’t even flash
a good old-fashioned
okay
without the forefinger

and no better tool was
ever created to dig out
a stubborn booger

we could go on, but
let’s stop to consider
this question:
if the forefinger
is so freaking great
why don’t we wear 
our wedding bands
upon it

I think this is why:
while the forefinger
is supreme among 
the fingers, the
fourth finger is weakest,
unable to rise easily
on its own,
unlike the others

when we wear 
our wedding bands there,
we are commemorating 
a union that helps the 
weakest part of us
become
stronger

but what if you are unmarried,
what if you don’t go around
pointing your index finger
at others

well, there’s always the
middle finger

Gray boulders litter

sun-warmed waters of the bay.

Sweet whiskered nostrils

surface, scoop up balmy air.

Magic, slow-moving mermaids. 

I turned my back for good on religion
after 9-11,
no loving god would put innocents in positions
of such torment,
forcing them to choose
between the flames or the terrifying fall.

Sunday mornings,
I hear the church bells from across town,
and I envy those
who brunch after sermon,
bellies and souls filled,
purpose-driven
for the remainder of the day.

As for my salvation,
no one should have trepidation:

there’s a hyacinth patch that speaks to me
revealing truths through its geometries, 
the determined paths of honey bees,

and sometimes, that voice belongs
to the peonies.

two lips
        twined-

        be leaved
              into light
                   
                       light
              led up
             upon light
              lit below

from an other
                         light
         left over
            above

          left here
            unled

from behind
             unto some

              other light
                      covered-
        
                never gone
                never done
            nor unbecome