Her cologne was hemp and Tuesday; lettuce-wrapped
in comet frost and not so merry-go-rounds.
She hid scars with wounds-
But never Noticed...
Charm- Kissed
by a tide of imponderables-
the size of her Ovaries.
Sleeping in a steamer trunk
to scope the limits
of Her Open
Mind...
As seen through the lens
of the first Blind
Eye.
And you Love Her.

II

You don’t have to sleep where you pass out.
You can study dreams where her feet have been.
Trek the spiral of her Cacophony to a Wailing
where her Heart should Be.
You can believe in anything
that Love allures…
Even-
And entangle your imperfection
with Her own.
But you have to wake up
to Dream properly.
Fold Space
where the crease
is a massive
Soul.
Merge with the
soft clots
in your fire,
and conspire to
move.

Breach the barricades
that thorn
your Roses,
or surrender
to
vanishing.
Know Love’s Garden
for what It
is.

Or Fetch a
Grove.