should have heard it then
when she said bite me on a bed of roses
since we smoked it, all around her is this grey boring mess

looking through creases
towards the hills and far away
the sun sets behind hunched shoulders
over greener grass she casts shadows
they follow while one leg lifts on the fence  
we turn smiling hope
it jumped behind a tree to giggle

when there's horned wire between us
she'll make that suckling face
of a twisted child
oh exhale, we shame the twister
read the essays, they conclude
we see more than the bruised, bullied blisters
we see inheritances bled on innocence  
hot potatoes passed along
sweetness i’m strong and hands of hammered iron
your chef, poet, music painter
lye back, love maker

twirling issues while herbs dry on my mothers table
childhood nudges play ball
the sun wafts in a cool breeze like heaven
while salt cures white rose petals