Tuesday, March 07, 2017

The Alembic




The Alembic


Soft humid hair trickles
from his torso to his belly button.
I moisten my lips.

When the fruit ripens,
he places it in containers
fashioned

in scented Spanish Oak
and moss. But to me Jerez
is not what gives him

the fragrance of Montilla.
It only forces me to savor
the memory of his abdomen.

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