FORLORN NIGHTS OF SPRING

XV.

I am a plum—
                                         io sono la tua prugna
and I fit in your palm,
in its tender arch
                                upturned, stately
and I curl in its pits
of lines that quake
with the warmth of my weight.

My flesh grazed by your teeth,
                                       a hymn that carries
across the gleaming sea
and intertwines with the tempest
that soaked your black curls
but not your mouth—
                                            your mouth dripping
with my plum juice.

Long time no see, my apologies.

I haven't had any inspiration or longing
to write. The poetic voice in me was simply silent
until I watched the movie Paterson today,
which has awoken that voice
and pushed me to open a little purple notebook
and write this little poem.

I do hope you like it & that it made you smile.