Ophelia has
flower petals
growing beneath
her tongue, and
I can taste
honeysuckle
when I kiss her.

There are highways
in the grooves
of her hips.
I like to trace them,
and get lost
somewhere between
intimate whispers and
an unsteady heartbeat.

Ophelia has a
mocking jay stuck
in her throat, and
it sings to me
when she finds
herself stuck in
tangled vines and
dwindling
self-confidence.

She weeps at least
an ocean a day,
and that's more
than my diminutive
hands can catch.
I think I'd like to
spend a few eternities
exploring the peculiar
jungles of Ophelia.