Deauville, Le Paddock
This house, pink stucco, could be made of meringue,
a confection beaten out of egg white and light. If I bit
into it, sugar would melt on my tongue. Sunlight
drops like coins through the leaves of the plane trees;
a short lick of black defines every shadow. Behind it,
sky meets sea, rises, a field of cobalt. I imagine
our hearts to be pink as this house, moving blood
through delicate machinery, red on one side, blue
on the other. There’s a riderless horse in one corner
of the picture, you’ve just alighted and are looking
into my eyes as if nothing in the world was as important
as what I might say next. I want to paint your body
with the pink sable of my tongue. I want to memorize
your skin. I want this blue afternoon to never end.
This poem was previously published in Barbara Crooker's book, Gold (Poiema Poetry).
Barbara Crooker is the author of nine books of poetry; Les Fauves is the most recent. Her work has appeared in many anthologies, including The Bedford Introduction to Literature, Commonwealth: Contemporary Poets on Pennsylvania, The Poetry of Presence and Nasty Women: An Unapologetic Anthology of Subversive Verse. www.barbaracrooker.com
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