Jennifer Boyd - Poems (2)
The gods made divine ambrosia,
taught me how to swallow light.
The way their skins tasted like honey,
their mouths – the sea.
My twilight fingers and cashmere lips
formed the shape of a body.
I might have been a prayer,
this man-made sky was
When the Rains Come
I find you breathing hard, hands shaking
like motor and dock. Rain born
from saltwater strums the pitted asphalt,
your chest throbbing in the saltwater complexion.
(Text © Jennifer Boyd - Publication: Spring 2018)