Poetry By Michael Beard

      ​   kami rao CC




Phiale

Shape my body into a bowl and drink from the shallow collarbone 
                I leave for you. Wading in the wine sky, a half moon
                                                                              rediscovers us—the doctrine of our bodies.
                We lie here, offering the world nothing
                                                                                                 but ourselves.
The way your cheek presses medallions in my chest
                             aches. Your breath, flowers.
                                                                   A mouth is a measure of faith
                                                                                                            is a curl between skins is
               the night that belongs only inches from our lips 
                                             is enough.
Don’t wait until morning for renewal, when the bed is made
                                                                                          and light turns everything too certain.
                            Think of the gestures that make us endless.
Speak, if you can.
                                                       Tell me how prayer is too small for this.

​


​Michael Beard (he/him) currently studies poetry at the Bowling Green State University MFA program and serves as the managing editor for Mid-American Review. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Jupiter Review, Bending Genres, Moss Puppy Magazine, The Mantle Poetry, and other places. He can be found on Twitter @themichaelbeard.
​