Prey

 

You were

fishing for me—

 

sliding your hand along

my dorsal and tail fins,

 

my dark olive hair,

my golden throat.

 

But you forgot

this bow

of sinew, cedar, and bone,

 

my Apache blood—

huntress, not game—

 

and this arrow which carries

your name.

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Q

 

Convertible

 

 

I’ve always been a Mustang girl,

 

but this—

cherry red

and just my size,

 

caught my eye,

turned my head, full throttle.

 

Oh, little red

prince,

you’re a sweet-tooth-ache

parked sugar daddy, solid, timeless—

 

and I’m still young and free

and cruise-ready

to coddle.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

Photo © 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Quadrille 227:  a poem of exactly 44 words including some form of the word “turn”

 

unforgotten stairway

 

where you last swept me

off my feet

 

your breath

fanning me tender, fanning me light

 

drowsy as my fingers linger

tracing your smile

 

the throb of promise

at sunrise

 

on the rose of my lips

holds memory of the curve of your kiss

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

 

dverse quadrille: a poem of precisely 44 words including the word “sunrise”

tlaquepaque stairway photo © 2025 jennifer wagner