I can but it’s so beautiful I don’t.
I prefer to think it’s unpronounceable,
to go to bed and think of him as fruit
glimpsed at night by someone who is lost,
who walks for many days, weighed down by maps
and dictionaries and old pronunciation guides
until she’s so exhausted and confused
she can’t pronounce the name of where she’s going to,
never mind the name of the fruit
into whose fat cheeks she dreams she’s biting.