May 2016 - Comments Off on Hannah Hayden

Hannah Hayden

A Chime in Budapest

The bread comes to bed with us,
and rises with us too.
In the morning we shrink
and bathe in the sink
First I wear white, and then
nothing (but you).
There's still blood in my shoe.
Mein honig,
St. Stephen’s been skinning
my poor
achilles up to step
But in Kun Utca’s heat, zealous and dumb
His dome tastes like
the dark weight of a plum.
We said that we’d go find some figs,
but instead,
We loved three times before lunch
and twice before bed.

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