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Zabaglione

Desi Di Nardo
From:   Fireweed. May 2002


On Saturday
the smell of head on the pillowcases
stranded in the air fuses with the scent
of a waning white rain outside the window
a lawn mower sputters a lewd song
spurring, seducing, absorbing in all it's mechanical beauty
we listen with foreheads touching
whispering prayers under a blue energetic sky
until all the foreign sounds slip away
then your skin sinks quietly into silk and
we rock like this all morning
in a rhythm as careful and precise as the sea
laden with warmth from night's full sleep
our bodies melt and drip like yolk
how thick and sweet your plight is
sapping out of limbs
quelling no such disguise
you trouble me again
under the opportune faith of a
yellow fertile sun
we rise to the dawn
Father, I say,
I bleed in the new language we speak




Desi di Nardo's works copyright © to the author.


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