Blemished
A.E. Jenks
The octave of us is an avenue
of blackbirds with marbolized wings
As the blacksnake licks the bobcat
in a herculean daze.
Your impotent homeland spread
the last deep'sea of freckles
on your icey, olive face.
Your blemished hands belong on you like
Auburn liqueur on pale blue tablecloths.
I swim in the black of your eye
until it liquifies like blues in autumn.
We talk like friends of jewel and berry bandits
Erasing halls of bored handwriting.
