Paris Jessie
AMBROSIA
are the things done in my own time
yesterday — my hands latched
onto my ears
and pressed, as if, ripe lime
shivered away a whole coat
then watched loose hairs
eat the nimble dust that dares to
keep taking up space
after that, ran five-miles through
ivory-humming, salivary forest
letting my ebony scrape the brush
and when I got back had the stench of
almond (she said is my eyes),
fruit (of my organs),
and honey (I perspire)
yeah, pack noise buzzing
these days
I quench tree sap
and blood orange leaves
the scales of me
the things I can do on my own
unruly, savory, sweet