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Poetry

She is so beautiful, it is enough—
her skin like milk, nipples like cherries,
her hair a long night without stars.
I find irresistible the blue vein
pulsing above her left ankle,
the green of those intelligent eyes.
Everything she wants, I want,
and though my mind is cleaved,
my full heart can only rejoice.
The apple snaps under my teeth—
a glad sound, like chains breaking.
She reaches for me. I am suddenly
ashamed, but with original love
she takes my hand and leads me,
broken and free, out of the garden.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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