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Jun 24
Poppy sways on the edge of the garden
like some exquisite ***** dancing for her own pleasure
rather than crumbs.
She's full fed of her toxins, intoxicated
She drears  left then right, bows a bit....
The curves are stem so peculiar.
How she slipped perfect hooks and turns
into that no wood, indiscriminate thing
bending, looking so supple.
but it would snap in fragility.

Oh poppy, I sigh, chin resting on my palm....
thinking of the warm feeling of harvest.
Herbs and flowers are my favorite
Pan's Central Express SYRNIX
Written by
Pan's Central Express SYRNIX  122/East Of EDEN
(122/East Of EDEN)   
118
     Yann, Fawn, 925 and S Olson
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