by Bev Braune

I meet two large women with boxes of sweets,
the wrappers opening with curled edges.
Inside, nuts are glassed in blood-red sugar,
rolled in waves of chocolate.
The women lift their fingers to paint my lips
like old friends dropping in for a delicious visit.
The two, so sure on pleasure,
take me close to their breasts,
take me into the light-filled and glistening case,
curve their sweet palms to my face,
pull baubles of perfume from my throat,
turn every moment into flight,
and I am swallowed up by the mouth of waking-up
with dreams on my lips and my tongue on fire.

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