Extremely Limp Tulip

Who's That Tulip?

The Tulip Neck

Bending, as if the blood leaving
your throat slowly rocketed
forth, you lean blindly forward,

to imagine it, but you like
the rising, his hand firmly combing down
your face against the darkness

of his shape, and

as if dying, you lean down to your thirst

~

the mouth of

the horse to the water trough—
but slowly, oh
slower than hunger, the realization of

it awakening. Languishing
tulip. Limp,
asleep. And yet,

~

upon thy lips
the cup

of the secret spills forth

only the smallest
drink for your madness, drink, drink

unsatisfied by your want, your living—

MIGUEL MURPHY

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