Peacock Online Review
Publishing innovative writing, quarterly.

REPRODUCTIVE PHYSICS

knight of swords

 

On a hot bright Wednesday I need you think the truth & some

aspirin.

 

She is lying next to you, bone to bone.

An atom catches in her rib, her belly makes a sound like wish. The

long weekend of her hip tapers in your thigh.

 

She is dreaming shy phrases of blue smoke.

Window shards & cut apart trees. Abraham Lincoln on a

handtowel.

 

You take her hand light & cold go running through your arms.

From the inside out, pretend. Angels wash their underwear in the

river.

 

Sun fills the gin from the big window behind the sink.

There is no story yet, only raw elements.

 

Tiny crosses of rain, your fist: holding flowers or eighth notes,

bluegold clouds, a necklace made of

turquoise & pendant earrings. You were cheating. You had

cheated, you would cheat.

 

Love seems to you to be beautiful. Or, let me say: possible.

Yes, love seems possible. Carnal, & very precise. You turn your

head, & can no longer see the children in the trees. That is the

fairytale, & now you can no longer tell the difference