V4:E4 April, 2002
In jelly jars I own my bones
like berries sunk in purple sap,
the apple whittled to a moon,
or citrus pared to syruped pulp.
I spread my ease like marmalade
across the joists and joints of men,
my honey skin and velvet nap
moves autumnal over them.
I harvest both their fruit and root
and mull October pungent mead,
twilight's' thick perennial ache
a brew of darkly wintered wine
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