Book 5: XXXI
inkpots and thin paper,
gruel of rice and tea,
my many lesions open.
jasmine and lemon,
Gaia twisting her teats,
generate-
themselves of themselves,
stain on the page.
we prick our thumbs,
my mother and I,
mingling Adam with Eve.
she licks the dust off my ribs.
in the lush
mazes of her breath,
walls of creatures part-
they leave her scent behind them.
lingering, lingering.
