- Alex Bortell
to patroclus
for want of eyes, of skin, of teeth,
to sink my teeth into the flesh
of the peach, the apple
and its sweetness,
to rival the sour i seek
when picking honey-sweet
pomegranates from your leaves.
slipping tongue between teeth
and seed beneath tongue,
i searched for you in hades’ garden.
wondering where your sweet soul
wanders – past the river lethe?
how do i reach you if
thetis forgot to dip me.