Lay me down
      in those fields  
         of silken flowers
        where the buzzing
        over our heads
       whirls us into
   lightspun holy
my dress a metaphor
for loneliness
as you lift it off
and let it disintegrate
into the evening's
electric ether
your lips
    undoing the tight
       leather laces
        that have held my
     heart in place
until now
Now.
undo them
   in unfurled totality
let my feminine essence
drip, in non-verbal words
onto your fingers
let my elements
   light you up
    from within
firebrand sunset
in molten metallic sheen
indigo lip of ocean
melding into crackling
            hiss of earth
               and humming
                   under this
                dark rich loam
              tiny vibrating buds
     sprout from fossils
trilobites become
hazy with new moss
seething insects
lay eggs and spawn
feeling the bloodpulse,
that simmer of surface
in slick magnet energy
Curled stems of wild
poppies and zinnia
tie down my wrists
snake around my thighs
clasp my
tender-***** ankles
as if to open me
up even more
than I thought
            my soul
                   could go
and I do not resist
for soon they will
accompany you
as you decorate my
deepest womb
              with blossoms          
filling me with your
soul's seed
your musk-scented fervor
nestled, subaqueous
into the root of
my sweet
       deep
of  
  need

It was spring time, my love
I waited for you down by the river
Where the ripples caressed the sun's beams and daisies flooded the bank with their sweet aroma.

And my eyes met yours
Like stars in the midnight sky
And me your astronomer
Looking through the kaleidoscope of Life.

Your hands swept my messy hair aside-
A gentle breeze from your passionate mouth: and the reincarnation was complete.
Your pillowy lips were as if they belonged to Eros.

It was summer time, my friend
Under surreal sunsets we sat
The fireflies danced like bright lanterns
into the humid, hot night.

Under boughs of evergreen
I saw that there were these ivory roses
That were slowly turning fuchsia
Towards the end of the solstice.

It was autumn, stranger.
And the birdsong was muted.
The sky was closing its doors.
And with it our infatuation.

The day was cold, gray and dreary.
My teardrops were scarlet,
Pouring on to pure white roses-
And they were blood-stained.

The days grew short and dark.
And with them I lost my love.

Less and less I’m getting human
At the back of my tongue,
The more I bite of
People’s thoughts;
Here prevails a taste of plastic
Be it cooked, or be it raw