I pluck you a crocus
and all life becomes
a legend of the body
a torch-whipped storm
pastel in its fire
buries me in you
when I hand you the stem
a shake
and the yellow stamen
loses its dust
lady lady
forgets its bug
when I place the flower
in your vase
spots wiped black-less
insect no more
lady lady
the inspection of autumn
bulb-less growth
and a string of red
***** and betting its stripes
a tiny mound of dirt
obscured by rotting leaves
the last of you reaching for my hand
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
I pluck you a crocus
and all life becomes
a legend of the body
a torch-whipped storm
pastel in its fire
buries me in you
when I hand you the stem
a shake
and the yellow stamen
loses its dust
lady lady
forgets its bug
when I place the flower
in your vase
spots wiped black-less
insect no more
lady lady
the inspection of autumn
bulb-less growth
and a string of red
***** and betting its stripes
a tiny mound of dirt
obscured by rotting leaves
the last of you reaching for my hand
