the bop

by a. noelle

ordinary days pine cones on sticks moments

a one-sided argument

he flexes her irises,
his rapture beaming,
fierce droplets of amber resin,
bestowing clarity with their brilliance—
his effervescent truth brimming over the surface, pouring
into her placid pools

with her palms open, arms outstretched

his chiseled stone strike-slips, as she
smooths with her lay tongue
only to deepen the faults, trails looping back
to tangle with stinging nettles and briars,
burrs and barbs spoken, unspoken
into the clearing—the tremendous, gaping remains of
a ravenous jabberwocky lacking sympathy or direction, a beast of
Aristotilean logic, Bayesian probability, formalisms, glistening alabaster tombs

with her palms open, arms outstretched

he leaves her passion flowers desiccated
on gentle mocking mosses; gratified, his glory
fades on a sigh like earthy hazel sunbeams,
combing through the tall silhouettes of pines,
and alone in the gloaming, she gathers
eucalyptus and elderberry

with her palms open, arms outstretched

#napowrimo #bop

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