Morning light, wrinkles sinewy ginger skin as distant bells
Ring of temperate ice and softer shapes. it overdoes the
Oculi, receding from the ostracized mirror.

Sprawling fronds of living illuminated wax, sweats
As hummingbirds flutter, licking clean any sagging
Nectar; molasses colored like sunset cornsilk.

The shades were drawn but i could see.
Spanish moss hung and swayed from your limbs,
Life collecting life, swarmed full with inviting creases.

Steam would not rise here; moisture surrounded moisture.
Dew after rain, dew after night. there would never
Be a season of drought. ginger would wrinkle in the sun

And the bells would muffle as the ice thawed into pools beneath
Our bodies as we slept; as we dreamt. we flooded ourselves
In puddles of imperfect cubes. our tea now, would only be warm.

Taken just like the Queen.