Wednesday, June 18, 2014

GRACENOTES

Perhaps only—the 
shyest and

quietest of 
blushing poets know—its overwhelmingly

if not precisely—the subtle 
little uncountable

zillions!
of spangled strawyellow 

summer suns refracted—
in each

faceted droplet 
of condensation colonizing 

every curve
of its nonetheless 

crimson-
flushed cheeks—

that make
a furtive thing 

like a chilled
nectarine—worth mentioning.

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