���������������������Mexican ceramic
�������������������������9th-6th c BC

if it had been a smile,
it wouldn't have been as intriguing -
one less link spanning centuries,
drawing power from where
my intricate embellishments imagine
what she might hold:

she holds me in her terracotta flesh,
draws me deep into her pores
where I mingle with oils of the hearth

smoke from kitchen fires,
my sweat condenses around its seed -
rains to fill her navel

sauces, spices, juices
wine sparkling or my weakness
made noble, jumping into bed
from a bridge of years,
ceramic, inscrutable -
she beckons,

massages my feet
in crushed mint - this fills me,
primitive figure full of
empty, fresh spirits uncorked,
white feet cooled by clay
ankles slide against each other...
as she lifts her breasts
I empty the bottle

empty-bottle spaces fill
with her dark matter,
musky matter to contain my being,
cluster the mumble of thunder
into satisfied vinyl -
the needle grooves deep

subway lines, sub
way times drummed out in garbage -
�the boot is for my one bare foot

belly split beautiful
brown bottom bucking
ancient turns today beautiful
everything beautiful
shoulders and psi, breasts
and spread legs wait -
beauty before, beauty now

beauty in radio light
soul oldies backdrop
sauces, spices, juices
rolling her eyes
pouting mouth inscrutable
fingering toes in thunderlight flashes
poem-writing necessities
held in the emptiness
of spanned centuries