Elizabeth P. Glixman

You are a holy man dressed in orange
And I want you
More than my father in heaven
Blessed be his name
I want you in the way a wife
Wants hers husband
When his hand slaps her ass
It is not a quiet yearning
It is strong brewed tea
Small teacups fit pungent beverages
Vows hold stillness as smooth as silk

No one knows the dreams of men in robes
And women with cool chrysanthemum faces
Hands wrapped around their thighs
bones stuck in coarse eros powdered hair
Chrysanthemum can cool flames
Make them crumble
I want you to crumble in heat
In the strong pungent chrysanthemum tea
with my hand on your thigh
Under a willow tree