In imagining the flowers
(The ones beneath pearly wan winter)
replete with pregnant universal cogitation
A signal starts in the belly,
past the tiny contenting fingerprints
etched in the hips (they seem so discreetly delicious)
-a solemn supper of the sweet lyrical grace of the feminine
-a banquet welcoming attentive natal secrets
-an eve of nectarous exchanges
I wanted to eat you like a whole peach, pit and all,
pull the sorrows out, name and number them
for Egypt, Afric, Abyss.
I wanted to slide sideways into that sadness and ride it to light.
Simple, simple, slow, she said.
I want you to say my name.