Leucothea applies Bavarian cream

to her paired slit, tending to it with

the waning crescent of no moon.

as oval handheld mirrors base the

trim of their metals on the philosophy

of ornateness--perhaps Gold.

gripped by nymphs, whose fingers

flicker off when oceanic shatters

gurgle up from temple steps.

the pelicans swoop
in a sea of cloudless blue,
tethered to the sky.

the wind is a song
that bends those velvet petals
for the lips of bees

a bouquet would consist of the flowers you love,

so I will tumble into the ditch, where all the marsh marigolds bloom for you.

does a voice ruin the wind?

I worry about the words I will say, forgetting that silence is charged with meaning,
and is easy to share with you.

in the rain I feel restored

you say,
walk out to the view with me before we go,

and I forget the drone of cities and am looking at it, with you

Under the sun we are beautiful beings.
I want to spend my moments in this light with you