Tuesday, March 11, 2014


photo:sharon auberle


by Cathryn Cofell

In my fantasy: 
Tuesday afternoon,
blinds drawn, covers kicked
to the floor, you and I
slick with sweat and oil,
bodies tight as earth and root.
I write secret words
on the sole of your left foot:
flame and temple and tether,
your hurricane face washed in genius,
your eyes wild on me,
your red, red lips on
the answers I long to hear.

In your fantasy:
morning birds peck
in an empty bath outside,
blinds wide open,
kitchen table, papers raked
to the floor, you and I
tumbling like rusty locks.
Words grind in your head:
flash and peacock and passport,
still fall into lines of pure genius
even as we steam the windows,
even as you bathe my long
pale body with lamplight and seed.

~ poem previously appeared in Sweet Curdle (Marsh River Editions)
   photo, in EVErywoman (Seven Islands Press)