Nature is a mother, fiercer than her blooms.

Savannah Keith, Poetry Editor

Boys like Persephone with their ankled
Flowers, beautiful
Are the harbringers of a reality
With limp-spread wings and slacked backs
And kisses from their succubi, golden.

Boys like Hades with their wristing
Fire, vexed
Are the salvation of a girled hunger
With drowsed-drunk keen and shift eyes
And casts from their lovers, bolted.

Boys like Midas with their fingered
Rings, traced
Are the bedeviling of blushing brides
With garters of smoking sun and aureate
And bettering of crown, urn culted.

Boys like Cupid with their shivering
Arrows, caustic
Are the anxious temperance of harlots
With pendulum-shake and caked cheeks
And resting of their endearments, sullen.

Boys like gods with their tempting
Harsh, allured
Are the lessened babes of goddesses
With their chalice-burn and wire wraps
And fire sands, ample in shape and war.