A hummingbird sang to a hawthorn tree:
I saw your mouth, my love
on the painted image of an Aztec whore,
dark-eyed and shining -- lovely.
And there by her side stood a strong man,
a man of war,
who for the softness of her gracious thighs
and the lingering kiss of her gaze
held out in offering a severed arm, white
like her skin
and red like her lips.
What can I give you, my lady of the buds,
for the gift of your nectar?
These are for you, then: my shining throat
and the lance of my mouth
and the wind and the drone of my wingbeat.
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