From My Mouth

Mouth of mine splitting lilacs with my teeth,
rolling out twilight so to meet Makers of the East and
dine with them on horsehead peaks.
Waking sleeping wanderers who fell
into holes and stagnated.
Shaking up wild wings and
jingling priests and setting sailing ships aflame
so to rise into heaven’s gate,
all of death is
breaking apart as cracking cookies splintering
over children’s faces—
away into deep gullets we find loving genes and atoms and
universal jotas that whirl and whine feet and hair into
Spanish braided passions that bend me open and parade
outward like a cavalcade of nature.

Mouth of mine is crunching closed,
ripping bandages off wolves and salivating robins
out the door so to reach springtime. Before any prayer
can touch this tongue that withers and undulates afearing
molecules and air,
I must receive a swear from you that winter didn’t come
by force but rather by
a beckoning moon,
quietly mothering all the meek and little beings that I
speak to when all the world goes out.

Lions crowd this mouth, and purr like buzzing bees, set loose out
the car window after being trapped for centuries.
I can not sense the rain or the tumbling of a tree
but I can sense that you and I were made to be but not in anyway
that you
nor I
could ever believe.
Lips of mine are nude,
hiding in the leafy green,
sharing wonders and marvelous thunders but never have I
kissed or sang such a wonder as marvelous and thunderous
as you.

© Copyright A. Marie Kaluza 2015

This poem is featured in The Red Robe – buy it here online today!

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