Poem #64

Is it better for two to face a fate?

While the soil beckons a spectral star
from a plum purgatory
on the western sky into its nightly bed,

Amaretto’s flavors of almond and apricot aureola
around our ability to reason, shared at a backyard circle.
How it issues forth a scintillating invitation
to accompany a companion to her tent.
We adjourn the embers,
crackling well through poke weed
and chamomile in echoes
trailing with us to the zipper.

The cedar wood and smoke, the tea and honey,
swell until a fit stirs each scent into the other.
A tongue is too hungry for a clit,
and a damn good, tight, and craving cunt
is quite passed pleasing the head
of a considerable cock.

After reaching the heights of the woods,
they swoon into a comforter
cuddling after the heat from one another.
Yet, deeper in the hours
they heard the fearful stomps and sneezes
from a family of deer,
followed by the yelps and yippies
of horrid, hunting coyotees.

Is this why people mate?
Is it better for two to face a fate,
than to have been all alone?


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