With her name in your mouth
more than a word, a morning
and everywhere on Earth
at the same time, in daylight
though once every year
you eat an apple in silence
as if a whisper
could pull the stars down
closer and closer to one another
and from your mouth a second sun
that has no shadow yet
would warm your lips holding on
as mountainside and one last look
at her eyes that tell you nothing
–this apple you drag nearer
is also a word, has your voice
your useless jaws, your darkness
next to her breasts and around them.
Author Bio:
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.