Poet Business

The way tree limbs look
like arms and legs,
how they join
at shoulders and hips
and crotches,

The way pink dawn
fills the negative space
between naked limbs
after a night of unrequited
                           the shapes
of flowers and pine cones,
bird beaks and speckled eggs,
warm sun on freckled legs,
love and bread and
sex and death and

how standing in the middle of a river
can be mistaken for a metaphor,

the way a kiss
can be anything else
but is always
a kiss.

About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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