Serving House: A Journal of Literary Arts
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SHJ Issue 2
Fall 2010

[One Poem]

Flower Conroy

Sexy Neck Blushing

Are you suggesting no one has said,
“Your throat is divine; it begs the simplicity 
of a diamond solitaire or a strand of ordinary 
pearl-colored pearls”?  Are you implying 
that people don’t lean over your shoulder,
lean close to your abundant cherryish curls 
& stare at your milky neck, its silky sculpture?
It practically pleads to be bit into, licked, breathed
in the way a hive breathes in the bees tasking 
away at honey making & waxpaper wall building.
I particularly enjoy how, when you lecture, wax
on the poetical, or smile, it visibly trembles.
Rabbitlike.  It thumps.  As if your very heart 
were caged there, amidst other unspoken 
words.  Vehicle to your lips.  So when you   
cover it as you often do in scarf or collar
I think it is a subconscious act, like the 
endangered Bengal tiger parading in 
his zoo room, dreaming in Bangladesh,
dreaming in black & white, dreaming in tiger.


“...we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose
is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?” — Ray Bradbury