- Erotic Poetry
- Ishtar, 23
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She holds a pomegranate
offers you Giza in a liquid bead
on her fingertip
her tongue is better than snakes
silver cools her pulses: wrist, neck
She is the birthplace of secret fragrance
within tiny corners of flesh and
you, bound up in the long hair of the moon,
find copper and sandalwood in her deserts
and hidden dusky berries among the vines.
She says
that the sphinx is her mother
She says she can see in the dark.
She drinks your breath, hovering
over you like a hummingbird.
Sometimes she pads barefoot in the kitchen
late at night, wearing your shirt.
Her breasts are apples.
When you slide from sleep
the sheets are tossed with blackberries
and crumpled tea roses.
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