Lovers

Bloodcaked stone at your fingertips

how well it articulates

my head. How clearly it passes

knowledge, each time

my scalp is laid open

like pages in the family bible.

Face down

I drain thick into your ditch

secret smile into mud.

Dizzy, I caress

your bones. My playful knives

flay smiles

one, two

along each red cheek. Your fluids

seep peacefully.

I cannibalize our romance

take appendix, tonsils

all your other parts which serve

no purpose. I build from these;

I make a chowder.

You splay my joints

hammer my nails

bring down the house. For five dollars

I'd golf you over that fence

plant you in that winter wheatfield --

you'd lie fallow

plowed under

wanting furrows

waiting like spring to return the favor.

PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED IN "THE AMARANTH REVIEW" (Window Publications, Phoenix, AZ) Spring 1991