Tuesday, May 04, 2010


She grows, a baby mouse, in my hand:
rosy, naked, questing, nosing for nipple,

wondering at free air,
dubiously following conceits
of blouses falling open, pupils widening.

Plumdrop head and veined trunk, skin
balloon-stretched now and shiny,
slicked with saliva;

I ask her Where are we going? And she says,
You tell me.

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