Sunday, August 19, 2007

TD4.9


I’m thinking now of the plums
Italian prunes
As I do each time
I tongue one
Tease out the moment
Before my teeth break
The flesh
Do now, a bowl before me

How you climbed
On the broad back
Of the rusted bus

To reach
The top branches
Pulled them out of the sunshine
Into the shade of the house

Your whole body a wag
Like a mutt ready to play

How our teeth tore
Through the tart skin
Wet from a quick tap bath
Into the sweet flesh
Irrevocable
We devoured each
Complete
Its own counterpart

Delicious

And then they were gone



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3 comments:

enyasi said...

I am now staring longingly at my neighbor's Italian plum tree and I feel like I need a cold shower... BRILLIANT!

suttonhoo said...

yeah, baby -- if you're looking for sex and death you've come to the right blog. ;)

disclaimer: no clothes were shed in the making of this memory. they were just really good plums.

and thanks. :)

Anali said...

That's quite a plum and quite a poem! And I have something for you on my blog if you haven't seen it yet. ; )

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