she is not what I look like now.
her nubile flesh, pressed
deeply against the rocky sons
of mother earth, Desperate for
confession of her earthly sins.
under the unforgiving gaze of stars
ripens her lumpy woman-flesh,
a fruit that comes to bear in night.
oil glistens greenly in
the light of narcissistic birth,
and sends smokeless flame to lick
against a coal-colored sky.
pure night is tarnished by
the thrusts of gods, tearing
holes into her, through her,
penetrating her secret place.
but she holds us here, together,
a fruit that is a seed,
a seed sown in the dark.
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