Tower of Babel
2001 by PJ Nights

If you were to whisper into my ear
Id respond with a tale of a morning
at the market where I filled my bag
with pattypan squash and heads of garlic
and tell you of the quick hot flush
for the man who had your shoulders

If you were to whisper into my throat
Id trill the song of the wood thrush
tutut-eee-o-lay-o-eeee who
composed the score for my solitary
diddle under the hickory tree

If you were to whisper into my bosom
Id breathe sharp nutmeg steam
over eggshell china - a corner cafe
cinnamon sprinkled on cream
like the freckles on my pale breasts

If you were to whisper into my navel
Id begin to babble and plead in
pagan prayers until Id lost all words
in vowels fallen from my lips

If you were to whisper into my soft wet vee
Id leave you then in my egotism
speak tongues you could not understand
climb high to a paradise
you could never see


ERWA '01