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Calves
by Howard Miller
(04/23/08)
Plump as squabs,
succulent as sun-soaked papayas,
your calves are flames
that light me through
the hungering dark.
Feast
This single shaft of afternoon sun
through our bedroom curtains
curves across your thigh,
a slice of ripened melon sweet
and warm on my tongue.
©2008 by Howard Miller
Reader
Comments
Howard Miller is a retired college teacher who returned to poetry writing after a 30-year hiatus. His recent work has been published in 3rd Muse, Prairie Poetry, and The Adroitly Placed Word, among others. He has had several reviews published in Avatar Review, for which he was recently named a Contributing Editor.
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The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux