The Kiss

Ready to absorb any insectwho lands on them, red hairsarrange themselves on a long leaf.

The Sundews take shallow,hovering breaths from their clear

globes along the windowsillwhere I feed them daily—distilled water through a straw.

Tonight, you and I are herein this dream kitchen. We’re trying

to boil tea for our dinner,but trapped in the glass kettle,a meaty fist of a fly bumps around.

You put your mouth over the steamingspout and suck his body out,

holding him somewhat crushed—his feet and wingtip poking fromyour lips—but not violently.

So the kettle is clean. But nowif I want to kiss you (and I do),

this iridescence, deadand black and shining—