Through the back door
he took the baseball bat
and hammered the rattlesnake to death.
Feasting on decadence, he escaped the burning sunrise
and ate the last petal of the last rose.
No one could persuade him of unity,
not even her with her undulating promises of love.
He was saddled in the seat of pride,
turning eastward to raise a glass
She broke his removed look
with a touch of her tongue to his lips.
She tuned her hair to flames, and called out to follow.
As he lifted his hand to touch her skin,
she took him in a dream to a land where
people wandered intoxicated with sorrow,
on account of their ill-formed hearts,
where children were weary,
baptized by the grotesque art
He called – adultery.
She called back – It is your accomplishment.
He watched her tongue turn to water then
drip on the grass, tuning the whole scene
We must go she said. She said,
there is no belonging,
only intimacy achieved, fought for.
Without protest, he curled into her arms
hiding in peace, safe beneath her golden sails.
Copyright © 1991 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Academy of the Heart and Mind” 2018
Published in “Ygdrasil – A Journal of the Poetic Arts” July 2018
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