Least Read Poems on Sylvia Plath

she splashes
across my chest,

arrests
the beautiful flower,

picks a one
of the many

disfavored,
it opens to

finality,

can not can not can not i
breathe

over her life,
it’s always that

hue, sudden,

as if retching-
as if she the cliffs of Monaco-

gild crag Moon cloak,
her favored

goddess or nag
turns her back

once a month,
then a last slit

of blueless London,

i cannot cannot cannot
fit the...