"Blood Dub (for Christine Hume)," Jeff Clark

Crave your arrival, crave summer lines
to sow inside, Inspirer
crave beads from the tiny vial
crescents and pink tongue
crave vibrations when dining
the salt slide, crave stunning oil
and salivation trails, wet curls
crave tasting the plum drug
a purple pearl on my ear
crave catlapping your lips
and the sun to swell as in the fable
of Jah's throb in a cherry aperture
and flood the folds

From Music and Suicide.

Some of the poems from Clark's collection, The Little Door Slides Back, appear in the Boston Review, together with a brief critical appraisal. Double Change has another sampling with minor overlap.

Just for the heck of it, you might want to compare today's poem to Neruda's "Heights of Macchu Picchu: I," featured earlier this month.