Demure by Lois P. Jones
She pours the cabernet
to show you its flame.
You've never looked
at rubies this way before.
Your large hand lifts
the goblet to examine
love's color. Isn't a stem
sensual she thinks; like Monet's
Poplars on the Epte.
You wonder if this is how
she tastes — dark and musky
like earth. You want to see
her eyes dim to red smoke,
hear her voice
knot around yours
in a husky tangle.
Thoughts quiver
around the poets’ table
like sunset moths.
It's hot so she snaps
her fan and the room
opens into brocade.
Tonight she’s a dark
episode. Everywhere
you touch burns.
How much heat
will you believe?
to show you its flame.
You've never looked
at rubies this way before.
Your large hand lifts
the goblet to examine
love's color. Isn't a stem
sensual she thinks; like Monet's
Poplars on the Epte.
You wonder if this is how
she tastes — dark and musky
like earth. You want to see
her eyes dim to red smoke,
hear her voice
knot around yours
in a husky tangle.
Thoughts quiver
around the poets’ table
like sunset moths.
It's hot so she snaps
her fan and the room
opens into brocade.
Tonight she’s a dark
episode. Everywhere
you touch burns.
How much heat
will you believe?
Her work has appeared in Rose & Thorn, The California Quarterly, Prism Review among others. She is the co-editor of A Chaos of Angels and a documentarist of Argentina's wine industry. In 2008, her work received IBPC's First Prize honors judged by Fleda Brown. She co-produces Moonday's monthly poetry reading and guest hosts Poet's Cafe on KPFK. She is Associate Poetry Editor of Kyoto Journal.
