She is an open jewelry box
singing, a wasp flutter
harmonizes with sibilance
against the garishness
of that tree’s
TOUCH ME AND DIE!
One eye is the fractured blue of an
abalone shell, the other cormorant
shine stopped dead,
wings helpless against her temple.
The alabaster lid of her skin
splits like a poached egg,
bold entrails drip gracefully and
she takes the apple,
doesn’t care a corpse cannot eat.
This poem first appeared in Lupercalia.