Post Road Magazine #17

Humidity against my cheek—

I am within this body. If

you eat the bitter grasses wild,

then sing of us and honeyed peace.

We hunt the stag in nuance, chase

the hart into the shaded grove.

The harvest done, the carnival

has come and gone. Your chapped, rough lips

brush mine two times, then three. Oh, take

this miserable inheritance,

this wretched transfer, turn it to

new paradise and ecstasies.

Painting: Fawn, 2005, Oil on panel, 31" x 23" - Astrid Cravens
Poem: That Root Old Spirit Song - Lacy Schutz

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