Lyn Lifshin		NOT QUITE SPRING Baby, you know I get high on you, come back with me whispering in her ear. It was all she could do to say no, spring leaves budding, his hand on her breast, crocus smell and everything unfolding. She gasping I want, I would but instead hurrying back to the windowless room where she locks the heavy door. Lemons are rotting on her pillow, she studies her nipples, nyloned crotch in mirror then hugs her huge body to sleep		WHY AREOGRAMS ARE ALWAYS BLUE Because of the distance to you. Because the wind fades, dries out the verbs until the background they’ve leaned against blends with the sky. The blue reflects your eyes. No, that’s a lie, I don’t remember them, only the feeling in my hands, some thing longing, aching the blue in my veins a fast blue burning barriers