The Indiscretion
Yeah, I saw that you left
the muscadines
right there
on the unwashed
kitchen counter,
as though sex
were a part of speech
all its own.
You can diagram
that shit, you know,
on wide-lined paper
and call it
a treasure map.
There, you just might
find salvation, if not
the ring you abandoned
under the fluff of my pillow.
Bloodberry
This morning,
I made a smoothie
from the heart
I wear on my sleeve;
and, to be honest,
it’s not sitting
so well.
Damn thing,
Sugar sweet.
But, my arms
have become wings,
wide enough
to flap the steam
from a well-balanced
breakfast.
A Hair Shy of a Pound
Your love is a slice
of olive loaf,
cut thin by the butcher
of longing and time,
so I stretch
my experience of you
into a sandwich,
wandering the aisles
in the quest
for pumpernickel-rye,
whole grain mustard
and lettuce shreds,
hoping beyond hope
that the cosmos will
continue its mad swirl
into unfathomable
vastness, forever free
of fluorescent lighting
and buy-one-get-one
limited-time deals.
©2023 Kelly Moyer All rights reserved.
Kelly Moyer can often be found wandering the mountains of North Carolina, where she resides with her husband and two philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul. Hushpuppy, her collection of short-form poetry, has recently been released by Nun Prophet Press.