Mornings of marrow and oolong oiled
mother-of-pearl from too much milk.
This is how we heal.
Fingers sugar-tacky, we eat the day
cloudless, watch mayflies thrust upwards
to a blue the hue of thirst.
Your lip, a crushed berry, spills
its wet cerise. You say Even this can be
inherited, by which you mean,
Be strong. Azalea and baby’s-breath
drop petals on the nightstand
like fly’s eggs.
Through your bent nose, your voice
a mosquito’s as you sing:
Man is ship, woman is harbor.
Day by day, I gaze towards the sea.
But we are landlocked beasts.