[from April Bernard's Romanticism,Norton 2009]
Essen und Trinken
Love breaks me like a corn cake
in a boy's mouth.
I am eating my own heart but I would like to wash it first,
raccoon-like, in the Rhine.
I offered him our bloods' river to drown in
but he found the metaphor distasteful. When did I learn
to make fun of pain, my closed throat,
the disease of my longing that makes it impossible
even to suck the ice chips shoveled
between dry lips with a long-handled spoon?
No river would oblige, in any case,
on this continent or another.