Nipple

 
I send you poems,
bound. You
send back a nipple.
It is so soft, so
tight, a wee
stone polished
by a pocket’s
dark. I want more
because humans
do. I send new
poems. I wait.
I sit by the road
though the road
may be only a
metaphor. I stare
at the sky. It
seems hardened,
yet I desire
one raindrop,
because a rain-
drop is a vase
for small reflections.
I’ve gotten away
from expecting
what you will send
me. To return: I
am thinking
ear, toe, a sifting
of pubic hair. I’ve
gotten away from re-
lying on recompense.
Still, your eye would
be nice. Then you
will see how determined
I am to wait, and gather.

 
 
 

Corey Mesler has published six novels, three books of short stories, and over a dozen chapbooks of poetry and prose. He has been published in numerous journals and anthologies includeing The Esquire/Narrative4 Project and Good Poems, American Places (Viking Press, 2011). With his wife, he runs Burke’s Bookstore in Memphis, TN, one of the country’s oldest independent bookstores. He can be found at www.coreymesler.wordpress.com