From Traveling Light: Collected and New Poems, by David Wagoner
MUSE
"Cackling, smelling of camphor, crumbs of pink icing
Clinging to her lips, her lipstick smeared
Halfway around her neck, her cracked teeth bristling
With bloody splinters, she leans over my shoulder.
Oh my only hope, my lost dumbfounding baggage,
My gristle-breasted, slack-jawed zealot, kiss me again."
From Three
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