Mario Petrucci
Nape
I am a suggestion
between workings of brain, the solid ridge
of spine - a curvature
kin to breasts, hip, loins.
Almost touchable,
I tender flesh, still, in old acquaintances
who might have been
something more.
To a subtle fingertip
my nap is velvet - in some strangers
I am a lily's stem
geisha-cool. Intimate.
I glow under moons
beneath the wedge-dark, am back door to eyes -
those hogs of the bone-glint,
of the brink of sharing.
Eased aside, locks
reveal me: curtain raised on my milky
opening night - or slightly bowed,
offered to the axe.
Page(s) 28
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