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The Date

This time we’ll come gloved & blind-

folded, we’ll arrive on time.

With bees in our hair,

with an escort of expiring swans.

We’ll appear to out-of-date & out-of-tune

violin music, we’ll lie on our side.

Wearing rotting lotus behind our ears,

musk between our thighs.

This time we’ll be tied down.

We’ll cry out.

We’ll only smoke if surprised

by tragedy’s approach, as it noses closer.

This time we’ll fall in love

with the blood color

of the sunset as we’re walking home

over the bridge that takes us

between here & there.

This time we’ll forget

how ancient Sarmatian lions go on

bearing marble messages for no one

who can understand their sarcophagus language,

forget sloths who climb so slow

they die before mating.

We’ll grow improvident & stop believing

there was ever such a thing

as alone, such a hard

nail in the coffin

for one.

from You Darling Thing Find more by Monica Ferrell at the library

Copyright © 2018 Monica Ferrell
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.

Published in Monica Ferrell Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.