To Elli
The heat has stung the lizards numb, Elli,
the white church scours itself with glare.
Ecstatic mules devour the afternoon
by the rusty fence where poppies smudge the sun like the blossoming
wounds of Christ,
and your arms gleam bright as dew on a dragonfly's wing, Elli.
A god dreams on in the olive tree's angry womb,
the balcony's shadow slices the street,
and your body is sweet as a knife, Elli,
your flesh is a casket of flowers.
In the valley between your breasts I hear your heart pump molten stone.
Enfold my breath in a rose of musk, Elli:
in your black eyes I see my death, Elli.
Maria
Maria I want your bitter mouth
Maria I want your breasts of dank loam
your breasts of sullen ripeness
your breasts of childbirth
Maria I want the narcotic orchid of your tongue
I want your eyes of treason
your eyes of attack
your eyes of the moment of death
Maria I want to be washed up shipwrecked on your shore
I want to be buried in your blood
I want the venom of your passion to sear my veins
Maria I want to be a universe unborn kicking in your womb
--
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Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
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