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This is the world
we get and only
this, the blood and the water mingle,
the moan among lilies and honeysuckle,
the branches shake
like my arms after rough
sex I want
you fresh from the hunt
your face smeared with the perfume
I leave on your mouth
it’s this overgrowth that reminds me
of how much
we are overrun
with the excess and the lush,
I have pressed
this hand to your plush
that I said this.
we made is the only one we get,
and it splays to a golden
and it singles us out
This poem was one of the winners of the 2012 “Discovery” Poetry Contest.
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But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
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