A poem from August 2010, a chapter marked by profound chaos. This is a phenomenal poem, though. Inspired by a moment in an Ingles parking lot.
.
.
.
Thick skin is taught in my fingers
you pull a knife out of your pocket
take it out of my hands
Neatly, with precision, you bifurcate the neon citrus
Perfect half-moon curved division
Returning to my hands now
I peel back the bitter wrapping
my spine tingles with scenes
of almond colored breathing flesh
Opening just the same -- intimate and soft
under the heat in your palm
momentarily distant and cold - miles away
I say hello
to remnants of you that I see there,
awash with trash, leather, blood
Orange
I come back. Soft.
I discuss the power of the bitter skin in whiskey to stimulate digestive fire
I caress the warm palms of your hands-- and notice they feel as soft as an infants’
My doe eyes drip into your slices a sweet nectar --
mixed thick with awe and forgetfulness.
