Dew In the Harvest Moon

To search for the root of you
the tendril of your ecstasy
is the reason for muscularity
in a tongue.

Yet it tastes on its way
finds the saline in the succor
the sugar in your sap-making
cambium.

My tongue as a tap
as a means of production
of confectionery
cause celebre
makes me a farmer, a forester
a man who reaps what he sows
and toils in fields
once dead.

And on this eve
in this reprieve
this unrequited requiem
of the harvest moon
I will lay aside the scythe
and the plow
and instead look to you
deliciously organic
and till...
and till...
until nothing remains fallow.

Originally appears at WetPoems.

Jalepeno

Ready ripe blush rising skyward
up salsa skin so hot
so smooth that I can
almost feel these podded seeds pulsing
against my palate...
Hurry hurry harvest-
hurry hurry have it
before it frosts
and I miss this florid fruit.

Through the Melodeon Window

Hey you, Cherry-Coke!
Yes, you
you Amish blacked
horse whip
cracking down the street.
Compel me,
opera mouthed
and gutsy.
Yeah you
you thick treaded
heel artist...
hi-jack me.
Grind it down,
mouthing the edict
to lay down my nets
and follow your fetish
through your plum cherry arbor.

Screwdriver

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon
peel your citrus love
and pass it out in sections
one succulent mouthful
to the next...

Yeah I know this ain't no Julep
but I ain't been juiced in weeks
and the shakes got me
turning for your nectar napalm
noose.

First appeared in "The HazMat Review," Vol. 2, Issue 2, Fall/Winter 1997