Relish

Tell the dream before it flits away like night
moths: a river pebbled by teeth,
waking up next to a saw
(is that me?)

I bite sour seeds to revel—
the scuppernong morning breaks open

                            Neither of us have ever been good
                            enough to disturb the devil

spurting juice-sweet, we roll
the tan meat of dawn
along the wet muscle
of our tongues.

Blanche Brown

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