from Jeffrey O'Malley: LOVE: A CHRONOLOGY

LOVE: A CHRONOLOGY

supremed degradation across

the sun-piled counterpane 

where we laid on thick

the dust-motes gathered in gloom

until you prized each aril

from the quartered cleft pomegranate,

overcast afternoon remanding

ruby brightness, extracted

while we set our thoughts aside

and played each stray gesture

by ear, or at least that's 

what we said at the time,

as your ballerina fingers dropped bone-white

blood-soaked seeds, tooth by tooth,

into the unglazed porcelain's milky hollow, set stain;

my lips, lentil-loose, met yours:

it's about time.