Byzantine Botanical Textbook #2

In the warm carriage
of your mouth, some of Juno's
milk having fallen
from the infant Hercules
gave rise to lilies.
The warm caul of blood
between us and the warm
flood of me, too: torso
of a butterfly in three parts.
What a metaphor is doing
with our bones changes
their molecules.  What was
sponge and porous
in the magic high is fightless
fight, a wringing of milk
from my wet hair,
the drops falling in cerulean
episode, hunch taking root
in a ground we tread.
The body of Christ
is the body of Christ
is the trumpet of a lily,
and Juno nurses the babe
in a summer garden
with you among the vines,
a wisterian man tending
a woman and tending
a child and tenderness
the graft joining us there.