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An Invitation

By Kelli Simpson



I'll serve sunset for supper and not deny myself

dessert; blue sky sprinkled with stars and scooped

between two fingers.


I'll be nocturnal as a night owl, eyes

big as saucers to catch the spill

of your low light and find you


in the night grass; your shoulders, your hips,

the small of your back cool cradled by crushed clover

and Indian Blanket.


Dawn will break, but I'll mend it;

send it back; reverse the Earth's spin

and when the small hours loom large,


I'll eat you like the banquet you are;

sweet from flesh, marrow from bone,

spirit from breath.


Then we'll sleep through the heat of the day,

sated as satyrs, until the suns ripens,

and night falls again.



 


Kelli Simpson is a poet and former teacher based in Norman, Oklahoma. Her work has appeared in Lamplit Underground, Green Ink Poetry, One Art Poetry Journal, The MockingHeart Review, and elsewhere.

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