Ghost Under the Eaves Options

[Kay]

She makes love to me everyday.
We become a cross. Other times, a roasting spit.
When she slips inside, I am a pink melon,
asking for a kiss to bruise the gods.

My belly feels light. I remember being eleven,
and kneeling at the feet of Our Lady of Guadalupe--
praying for breasts, for the map of a man.

Then, I found her:
soft around the mouth;
she leaves a flutter in my ribs,
a ghost under the eaves.

[Michelle]

Hi Kay, I think this is just excellent writing. I have absolutely no nits with this. Sorry to be so long to get here. I'm pretty much trying to ignore my poem right now and let it slip off the page.

Are you still around? Although there are a bunch of great poems this month for IBPC, I would like to nominate this one. I really think this would fare well in that contest.

my best,

Michelle