Where in this vast regolith orchard are you Endymion?
Or has moon relinquished you, having loved her full
Of you & you woke just long enough to stretch & yawn
& recline upon this primordial lawn before perishing?
Tethered to machines, when I clench my jaw I pierce
my tongue with my teeth until blood discolors them.
Hands like crocuses in my mouth. Prying my bite.
Then ice chips, poultice to the punctures. Pink saliva.
The night is laced with trapdoors, blue boy. An impression
in the tinselly grass where you reposed like a wax stamp.
I avert my gaze. Someone wipes rime from my chin,
whispering let go let go.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Flower Conroy’s first chapbook, "Escape to Nowhere" was selected as the First Runner Up in the Ronald Wardall Poetry Prize and was published by Rain Mountain Press. She is also the winner of Radar Poetry's first annual Coniston Prize, selected by Mary Biddinger. Her second chapbook is forthcoming from Headmistress Press.