Issue Nineteen - Winter 2012

More, One More

By Elizabeth Austen

I claim I’ll go
full of curiosity.
But darling we both know
I always want one more
kiss, another drag
off the scent of your neck.
No reason to think I’ll die
differently than I live—
hungry for one more mouthful
of honey, craving another
blossom’s cargo of yellow, more,
one more bass note caressing
my sternum, one
more saltwater swim.
I’m sure to try
to pull along
some cone or frond,
grain of sand
in my swimsuit,
pistachio stuck in my teeth—
to praise this world
by hauling what I can
into the next.
Darling, sweet pants,
don’t stand
too close
at the end.

Copyright Austen 2012