mulberry mouth

the herb Paris of your voice
in the backest corner of the garden
"are these deadly nightshades or cornelian cherries
behind the consecrated
like once before I pick her and she
rims the mouth shrills a blue
bell in the dream we ride: small-me on the scooter
you on the stepboard jump on
and off
running board reason
my donkey child
you arise in the snow
I screamed in the monkey tree
the wind blew summer out of the fur
the world hit my disheartened



© 2019 Eleonore Weber
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