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Todos Santos

Plaza Sena, Santa Fe

In the mystery of a little shop
off a hidden courtyard
centuries old, suckuous caramels
arranged on an antique tray
enfolded by beautifully crafted lace
that depicts skeletons riding
gas-powered lawnmowers
as if tea time were every moment
of arriving by plane and mystery
brought to the point of melting sugar
were a perfect facsimile of heartache.
An enthrallment of heartache
as a blossom of time—delicate,
unrestrained, topped with a sprinkling
of pink salt and packaged in bolts
of electric foil and ribbons of edible icicles
that double as a row of teeth
and a cabinet of edible and fluorescent
yonis and prayers for healing.
And as for the ministry of chocolate
what skull or joint of finger
or perfectly plump penis elaborated
with crystallized lavender could enter
the dark hollow of our throats
with such scholarship, such whimsy
of rose water and chili, what rune
coated in pure oil of cinnamon and cacao
blossom could possibly divine how far
and how fast we are now and always
being flung at any moment
through deepest space.

– Copyright © 2009 Theresa Whitehill, All Rights Reserved

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