your name explodes like a ripe god in my mouth
the audacity of this god / to plant dandelions beneath your tongue
& call to the honeybees in the / clementine orchards:
these small boys, with bouquets / on their breath
crashing against the tides / of themselves;
these gentle buzzsaws, with / tangerine touch
crashing against the shores / of your teeth,
asking you your name—
you: copper watering can / left out in the rain
you: helium nectarine / & buttercup adjective
it’s all about those good / vibrations, baby
you feeling it? you / feeling it yet?
&: oh baby—
how they placed a plum / in a nuclear reactor
all nectar & heat & splitting / apart & called it easy,
the splitting apart—
called it by your name / all citrus love
& then buried it / in an orange grove:
all blood & earth & / mandarin bone
& god / how they ask the most gentle
hands to carry swords.
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An avid introvert and full-time carbon-based life-form, Ashley Cline crash landed in south Jersey twenty-eight years ago and still calls that strange land home. Most often found listening to Carly Rae Jepsen, her essays on music and feelings have been published by Sound Bites Media; her poetry has appeared in 404 Ink, and is forthcoming in Third Point Press. She graduated from Rowan University in 2013 with a Bachelor’s degree in Journalism, and her best at all-you-can-eat sushi is 5 rolls in 11 minutes.
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