her heart was a garden
of poetry made from
the soul of lost flowers
that bloomed
in the eternal hour by hour
of the lustful sins of orchids
tangled between
the promise of lilies
kissing the gaze
of the indigo night
and roses waiting
to discover the pain
and the pleasure
of the color of blood
and the taste of the soil
and earth where heaven
had heaved and plowed
open the secret entrance
to the paradise built
by the demons
and the devils
of the delight found
when dancing in the flames
of the fire below
where the skin
of the flowers petals
only part when touched
by the rhythm found
in the vibration
and thread that flows
through every seed
and stem
and heart
and every countless star
that shines to the song
of love that hangs
like a dream over
the garden of her heart