Shaving the Truth
Then sweep me off my feet into your palm;
with fallow smiles are hearts broken open
like watermelons, split to spill
red ripe skies winking black stars.
At fallow smiles, their hearts break open,
easy fruit hastened to maturity,
red and ripe. Skies wink black, stars
sparkle tiny lies of bright existence.
They were easy – fruit hastened to maturity
too soon – but I am not blinded
by his sparkle, lies hiding tiny existence.
I set him at my feet, sweep him into my palm.
This is my first (and probably only) attempt at the pantoum form.