she brought you ripe fruits
the moon haunting your earth-born soul
with wine-headed fever
cloying with her slopes
her spheres
you have left wisdom in the caves
hidden passion under frail mirth
panting, you commune
with her histories
and whisper souls-ease
to the nightingale
pressed close with truth
[This work was from the Cut-up (Jigsaw) Salon, June-16]
(1 Jul 2016)
Pleasant Street is a mother, baker, and poet, presently writing a series of neo-noir thrillers somewhere in the middle of the U.S.A. She thinks too hard and feels too deeply, and appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design. She is dreaming up a way to use baked goods as legal tender. She may be read at @AreYouThrilled.
