It’s hot in this red room,
inside the beating heart of the ritual, explosive

now with duress, bleeding its stress
onto the oriental carpet. The salt, little corrosive

grains of light, works its way into the meat.
We talk. We watch. We eat,

our two miracles ingesting the atmosphere between us.
On the table, a golden plate of apple blooms.

Sidney Wade, “Siamo a la Frutta”
Art Credit Cy Twombly

  1. lointaine-3 reblogged this from theparisreview
  2. angela-slamsbury reblogged this from theparisreview and added:
    I remember the first time I saw Cy Twombly’s work in person. I cried. My mom didn’t get it.
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  10. ruff-draft said: Holy shit.
  11. kudostradingco reblogged this from theparisreview and added:
    Love the poem and Cy Twombly’s beautiful energy.
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