Poem, at the possible end of the world

Now or never— I too would like to make a grab for it: that chance, your hand, your beautiful shoulders, some wild, un-shy unstoppering of affection, the dip in the fountain, everyone kissing in doorways and the sky sudden as a flush of wings. Loop them around and around in my hands, as many as you can: the world’s many-colored skeins like streamers around a maypole, like old-fashioned favors hidden beneath the bottom layer of a wedding cake: miniature plaster key or treasure chest, glazed pink heart, cherub’s arrow, and the prize, the prize— tiny gold band winking a rhinestone bauble. Out they come from under, coated with a film of yellow or red velvet cake, crumbs and cream, piped sugar icing; and we put them all in our mouths still attached to strips of satin, lick them and lick them till they all come clean as doves wheel in the rafters and pelt us with grain.


In response to thus: I would like to see.

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