The world is not a caretaker, not ready to hold all things falling. Not a lover, ready to stroke our napes during a migraine. No, I’ll give it all, instead, to fleeting cocoa and sharp fruit that thaws on the tongue. Pleasure, how it leaves us ____, how it leaves. I want only to slow dance like maple. To be a citrus rind and fill the room.
Gardner Dorton (he/him) is a poet living in Knoxville, TN. His poems have appeared in other journals such as Hobart, Crab Creek Review, Homology and Narrative. His chapbook “Stone Fruit” was published by Glass Poetry Press. He daylights as a copy writer and an amateur photographer of his dog, Cooper.