Longing

‘for your husband shall be your longing, though he have dominion over you.’  Genesis 3:16

So this is the plan:

this throb,

this molten river coursing

from nipple to belly

as she watches the husband return

from the garden.

She kneads floury biscuits at the window,

an amethyst bracelet of bruise

appearing and disappearing into her cotton sleeve.

And this:

this portion of spirits the husband allows himself,

erasing ache and knowledge.

On the way to lunch

he calls each restless beast by name

and tucks his bottle into its straw cradle

knowing he’ll return.

Late, in their unforgiving bed,

she rends his back,

he pounds her prow of bone,

longing.