"I find the headiness of the acrid,
almost urinary scent unbearable,..."
Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series
Need to Know
11: The Necessary Eye
Issue 10: Out on a Limb
Issue 9: The Missing Body
Issue 8: The Lily
Issue 7: Passages
Issue 6: No More Tears
A quick list to poets featured in this
devin wayne davis
Silent and gestural, these mottled lilies
knife open to intricacy in a motion
abruptly similar to your own:
like lovers, through long nearness
youíve come to resemble one another.
Itís visible in each bloomís
freckling, like the cream-froth
complexion grading your shoulders.
Or the veins mazing the translucent fabric
of these petals and of your eyelids.
Still, what to compare to the porcelain-tipped
pistilís eagerness, trembling forward
in its pelvic-thrust approximation of sexuality?
(For the flower, no parody, pollination
being the erotic of the floral) --
I find the headiness of the acrid,
almost urinary scent unbearable,
a cue for love and for decay in one,
becoming stronger as blossoms wilt
and colors brighten to brittleness.
Which leads me to consider the way
I have been marked. I enter rooms
with stained fingers or jaundiced face,
the saffron of each stamen undusted
bald as velvet upholstery, years-worn.