Cross-petals of daffodils sway to the cries
Of starlings – stark shrieks and minute iridescent
Wing-beats – while the willows whistle,
Tumultuous as feathers caught in the wind.
Like the fragrant taste of rain, you tell me
About mistakes made by people in love,
How temptations of her white heron-legs
And meadowlark voice stole your attention,
Like flies drawn into the range of a bullfrog’s tongue.
Your words meet heartbeats under tremolos
Of wild grasses with olive and mauve sprouts,
Lingering beneath brewing oyster clouds.
You adorned yesterday with honeybee stings
And barbed crescendos of climbing roses,
But tomorrow brings sweet-tongued
Hummingbirds and thrumming choruses
As your soft-spoken daylily promises
Dissolve silence into adoration.

you hated poems so much that you
became one, sweetheart
(tell me, does this suit your tastes?have i gone too far?)
i tried to write a love poem and it turned into a suicide note that doesnt belong to me
i guess you didnt find it romantic when i called you carrotseed,
when i pined so much that i turned my love into a grove of trees
you make comparisons between me and natural disasters like it's a habit you can't get rid of
but there's nothing natural about the way my heart beats when i see you
baby, your eyes have never looked better