In Spring the ice still clings
to the streetsides of Manhattan
but in the hazel light of his apartment
I watch him inhale warm smoke
from a green bottle,
the knit blanket around his shoulders
flushed cheeks, and round frame glasses
that refract the light of the kitchen match burning
between his fingers.
A sink of dishes, reptilian lamplight
his coat hung over a chair.
Loose sheet music, chamomile
rosebuds, and mason jars which rimstain the table
where he serves me tender spoonfuls
an aphrodisiac from the Dominican Republic.
whole clove, agave, soaked
the softened bark
of rosewood we savor
and, sucked of its honey
leave to dry on the stovetop.
Jennifer Woolard is a third-year undergraduate student majoring in Writing & Literature within the College of Creative Studies at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Currently focusing on surrealism and imagism in poetry and prose poetry, Jennifer also practices visual arts including ink drawing, painting, book arts, and photography. In the future she hopes to pursue freelance and collaborative work in creative/multimedia writing and art-making.