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Reproductions of the Body
There is no pain
that is unaccompanied
by light blinding
or translucent like seeing
the sun through a flame or another's petite morte
as you climax,
and heap in rubbled bodies,
others cast in panoptic stone
by the suffocating beauty of the soldiered
rose-blossoms.
They cry, cry out in ineffable joy at the sky
or lips fall heavy to the dust
as they climax,
and entwined in fervent bodies
we all come to know what makes us bare another
sadness swaddled in marble arms.
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