by Jeff Oaks
If there is a darkness. If there has already been
a mouth, many mouths, depths reached down into.
Among the small exploratory hairs in the darkness.
Among the quiet whispering of desires sliding against one another
in the earth. In the darkness. Something pulled free.
Something unafraid of not being a flower.
Other. Sweetened by roasting, by fire.
(October 1, 2016)