Dorbin, Sandy

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it was not your hair but sleeping butterflies lay across the sheet Tragic Beauty i called you you answered with bells in your throatwhat's wanting now is dancers flowers in the waterglasses the house full of your laughyour friend and mineshe wanted to stuff him into her bed so we might go home and "talk things out"we drank some more beer con­vincing him it was all right then skidded home and fell asleep insteadthe hot springshigh and so softly happy with lots of moon and pickled figs our velvet heads rubbed the sky while down in water's sweaty hold i thought we would never come apart these poems are arms stuck in the sand60

The Hot Springs

http://ddd.uab.cat/pub/wormwood/wormwood_a1971v11n2i42/wormwood_a1971v11n2i42p60.pdf

The Hot Springs

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