I'm tired of the mudmouthed,
with their venom lips--
wasp's nests on neck stalks, talking all day.
There must still be a place on earth
where a woman can do nothing and do it marvelously--
I want to wear clothes so soft they make birds jealous.
I want to sleep during daylight, in turquoise silence.
I want you, wordlessly, like always.
In that place, I could amaze with the impossible,
saying exactly what I need, simply and at last.
There, the moon would rise--
a hidden spring matching my pulse points;
turning to stars and such, I would be
Brilliant, beautiful, but with warm bare skin you could touch.
For "The Heart's Desire" at Real Toads.