Flowers

Monday, March 6, 2017

When the flowers are blooming
and the bloomers are flowing,
when the knickers are tight
and the tickers, at night,
are drunk and unwinding:

Then and only then will I come to you,
my love, amid smoke and ash
and wind whistling through
tree limbs, foliage-rich, within
which is perhaps perched a finch:

Then and then will I repeat
and rearrange you the way you once
reaped me, and parroted me,
and foiled, then oiled me—my gosh,
how it roils the memory.

How my flight must boil
your mammaries, come to think of it,
my singular ladybird. Stay sane!
Be safe! Maintain that waifish
mien! Love, you’re a star!

• • •
 

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