Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

July 22, 2014

Still Life

How grotesquely we seduce

one another and are jealous

of one another; as though we

were all pieces of fruit taken

at various points of readiness

to leave the branch, whether

willing or windfall, composed

on a teeming platter for slow

selection, ripening under close

observation, only to sweeten

or decay depending on whom

we lean against: soft shoulder

or hard, in sunlight or shadow.

From my book manuscript, underway its final edit.

Posted by Delire at July 22, 2014 02:54 PM