Siesta by William C. Blome

I know the rest—and, okay, the dreams—of Quito florists
is unique in the north of South America,
for nowhere else is found a sleep where daffodils
and dandelions (despite their wavering, despite their wilting)
are completely powerless to prevent self-purplization
and thorning, and as these processes come
to pass, there’s this big-assed, big-thighed senorita
I’m drop-dead crazy over in her dental scrubs
and snowy oxfords, who now has nowhere left to yawn,
nowhere to cushion her sweaty head and get supine,
nowhere left to stretch her buttery arms
and then extend, weave, flutter, and friction
each finger and thumb inside her blooming self.

William C. Blome
William C. Blome writes poetry and short fiction. He lives wedged between Baltimore and Washington, DC, and he is a master’s degree graduate of the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars. His work has previously seen the light of day in such wondrous places as In Between Hangovers, Poetry London, PRISM International, Fiction Southeast, Phenomenal Literature, and The California Quarterly.

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