A journal of semi-detached poetry.

Jennifer Boyd - Poems (2)

Double Entendre

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 

my temple.

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)



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