Beau Boudreaux

You can touch me

if you want, your wish
the lemon grove and lime trees

are heavy, giving and the rain
comes only in late afternoon

I can let my hair down
with a shake and look more

appetizing, a plate of oysters
on the half-shell, pâté with sliced

pears—the oriental rug aired in
sunshine, its worn diamond design—

pool balls racked on felt
please, honey take the cue.

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