poetry by Thomas Zimmerman
photography by Kenny Klein
On the wall, a Fuseli print, a photo
of Baudelaire; in the bookcase, orange spines
of old Penguin paperbacks: we're at home.
A swallow flies--clunk! goes his skull--
into the misted pane of our northern bedroom
window. I feel the purring of your orange
cat under my petting hand, see its barbed
bright-pink mouth when twists its neck, meows.
You've interlocked your claws around the back
of my neck. Veins of verdigris show in your breasts.
In this candlelight, I see a black, winged
creature hanging on your back. What black
incantations your mother must have written
in the back pages of that family Bible!
Hold me closer to the fire -- There!
We burn darkly. The last light has died.
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