Southern Pacific Review Editorial Services

Sunday, June 25, 2017

The Feast

by
Karen Little

There is a time to dismantle pain,
long after the event,
when the gap has been filled by another.

Once the ripped heart is less raw,
no longer exposed to the elements,
I can feast on it in the lonely hours,
sensually explore it.

A new body stretches, teeth fresh white;
never had to root through garbage.
He inhabits new experiences,
exuberant, careless.

He sheds clothes as rapidly as I
climb into them; pants through the heat
I shiver through.

There is a time to dismantle pain,
but I am still not ready to
open the book of him.

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