My own water-diviner

A woman a man leaves
Is bound to smell a cornucopia
Of semantic imperfections
In the way her vowels string
Around her crane-like love,
Up above the snowflaked heart,
Where her arteries bear anatomy.
A woman a man keeps
Is sure to taste of apple fennel
Pistachio apricot in the combs,
The thighs, the whispers, the lobes
Of the dangling guilt of staying
Within the sheltered promise,
Right in the middle of things.
A woman a man de-meanings
And re-meanings first into a noun,
Then a faltered adverb of dainty
Struggle and human awkwardness,
Shall burn and luxuriate in the disease
Of his own incarceration in bareness.
Such woman a man cannot contain.

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