Poet Laundry: Passion

Showing posts with label Passion. Show all posts

Friday, March 28, 2025

the close of march—

the phoenix rose,

petals burning—

you caught them

with damp palms,

rubbed them lime-light

on my skin,

sipping salt

from the spoon

of my throat,

drunk

on the moonshine

margarita of spring

On the First of March,

the desert doesn’t know

it’s not even spring yet.

Summer tosses dandelions

through a hole in the sky.

With my face upturned,

I let them pelt me

with soft, moist tongues—

pollen making eye shadow,

powdery blush,

a soft dusting of body glitter.

With a strike of your hand

on my hip like a match,

we become a collision of stars,

a kilonova,

exploding, burnt.