Thursday, November 20, 2008

(For Yen)

Call her an electric currency.
Imagine a banknote
high as her cheekbones.
Yearn to say grace in Cantonese.
Not before an ordinary meal,
but before lips full as ripe fruit.
Say the tongue dreams
of tasting her oranges,
freshly peeled. Dreams
they say pluck me in Mandarin,
of softly circling a Navel.
The flesh pulses with Blood
anticipating a touch.

What does she deal
if not a high card narcotic ?
Call her addiction (opiate):
watch her smile blossom
wide as the petals of Poppies.
I cannot box, but will rebel
if denied these endorphins.
Intervene S'il vous Plait.
I'll relapse into a dream
of her slender fingers.
I bend like a card
marked by a yearning:
Wash me face down,
shuffle me by hand, I beg.
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