Did Eve dream of marriage,

venerating blossom and vulva?

The notions of a more modern standard?

There must be conjugal idolatry in all such magic

Pray, take my flower

and from magic, procreation

the case for rights, common and submissive

idolatry put up as prize.

All desire is dispossessed in this liquid twilight.

My beloved's rise from sleep

her waning song of objections

Sleepy voice, sleepy tempo—

the muddle of the nonconformists

Love

dispossessed

Love and sleep mingled

till the poets among us can be

I am woven in your hair

passion's abuse—

the capacity of the voice to stir flames

clings to all things vulgar

to conjecture's hot denials.

That then is the dilemma of uncommon, undying love—

the grace of coffee cups

rain in the evenings

the wild bees of any normal god

busy streets of dusky simplicity

Only the pungent word becomes love—

crushed leather and pearls

ardor by the cupful, liquid and voltaic.

Erica T. Carter