-That red/purple/green combo:
Did I imagine it?-
Time had a purpose for once this evening
and beautiful, making slow perfect sense.
Gave me courage to talk to the near moon
and every fractal pattern on the grass.
Each stem of the flower, and petal torn
existed to remind me of her face.
The clock hands thrice stretched longer, green vessels
pumping through the veins: each revealed as strands
growing from her own heart's core, of course.
Its a sign of death, beauty shortly held:
of oldening slowly. But god, how
can I describe her? Her laying upon
a wavering sea of chartreuse, not seeing
not believing, but trusting me too
with all her soul, to guide us through the haze.
Both slithering, aging, growing restless
with the movement of the light: the best part.
Of my life & that entire night was
feeding her cantaloupe & being close.
Becoming shapes in the dark, twig people
who feast on such darkness as well as life,
and with the son are reborn yet again.
In my own widening pupils i saw
death approaching fast, the end of us both
lounging; I laughed at his petty mockery.
Sat reading quotes of other safe people
to the laughing her, giddily smiling.
The trip started with soft piano tunes,
ended with I loving her. Her the same
old self she always was & will yet be.
This is a poem for she that sings life,
laughs with a smile, and plays with sink water.
That safety word has become a story,
living tattoos of the deepest clover,
coating the softest skin revealed: arms, legs.
I hope it guides her well.
