Paradise

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In moans, I offer you a country where persimmon

is the currency—flush fruit, dark seeded, you roll

its flesh against your buds & beam as its flavors

tax your tongue. My only food today is you.

Mouth firm against the dark fur of your sex as

juices drip our chins. There is no death here, no

uneasy sleeping. We nap to give our senses rest.

We rinse ourselves in impossibly clean streams.

No gods, no monsters—this place is peacetime

after peacetime after endless peace. Each bee here

sambas against lilacs, brews a slow alcohol we breathe

deeply. You lack all allergy here, but we are not

immune—we are tuned to pollination’s boozy

revolution of vibrancy—rich colors bursting

outward like stars bathed in prisms. Nature here

is a companion requiring no fang or talon, no

camouflage or pack. Each sensation earning trust

& rewarding all you’ve earned—death’s little

replenishments like ruby Ponchatoulas after

ice cold water sips.

Our entangling bodies rip

you free from years of exhaustion—here where

ecstasy is inexhaustible. This is not a solution

to the world’s problems: this place has never

known problem, never known harm. It is the

gleeful smile of a sibling’s kid—a spouse you

haven’t lied to yet. Nothing gags the grinning

of satiated lovers—we are the ever-stretched

& super limber gripping grass as we plunge

& wring. No one interjecting, no advertisement.

There is nothing to sell you you haven’t been

given as thanks for your existence. No sickness,

no malice. Just keep sailing. The warmth

& light envelope like wet lips around your sex.

You are brave for being so beautiful. You are

wise & humble, a soul I wish to lick at like

fawns swooning over great salt pillars.

The spray of sea air tousles your charmed scalp

as my kisses beg for your essence, begging to

uplift & champion your mastery of anything

you choose. Just a little closer, baby. Ignore

the scatter—those bones are the scorched relics

of the less deserving. They desecrate your paradise,

like those voices impolitely asking you ignore

all you’ve ever wanted & all that you deserve.

Those pebbles piercing near the shoreline

couldn’t best a sailor of your stripe. Soft as

roasted parsnips lathered in butter. Push on,

baby. Just a little farther. My hunger quickens—

a beak dipped to pooled nectar. Yes baby. Yes.

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Geoff Munsterman is a Plaquemines Parish, LA native who has been performing poetry in and around New Orleans since 2002. He has authored a full-length collection, Because the Stars Shine Through It, and several chapbooks (most recently Abandon). He writes of Louisiana always but also writes of the home that is his body, and all of its carnal cravings. An acclaimed editor and book artist, he likes ampersands, making ice cream with his lover, and talking about poetry for hours. Please ask before you hug him.

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