With her name in your mouth
By Simon Perchik

With her name in your mouth
more than a word, a morning
and everywhere on Earth

at the same time, in daylight
though once every year
you eat an apple in silence
 

as if a whisper
could pull the stars down
closer and closer to one another
 

and from your mouth a second sun
that has no shadow yet
would warm your lips holding on
 

as mountainside and one last look
at her eyes that tell you nothing
—this apple you drag nearer
 

is also a word, has your voice
your useless jaws, your darkness
next to her breasts and around them.

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