Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney


Acorns and goats milk, honey from the comb,
the small sour grapes and olives of the hills,
he never ate the sort of food that fills
you up, It's not as if they ate at home,

his mother and her sisters. Gods eat cloud
and air and wind, though also pick at stuff
at random in the hills. He never got enough
to eat, poor demigod. He cried aloud

perfect High C from hunger, didn't know
what he was feeling. His wife changed all that.
She found him almost starved, and got him fat.
Their love was flesh, and poems. They would go

eat and make love. And he would lie in bed
writing ecstatic odes to sex and bread.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.