Sigh my love is sweet and loose
As the Midnights breeze
Within the Honey
Of your tresses
Sigh our love is meant to soothe
Sigh my love with Sighing Kisses
Summer rain caresses
all of our loves flowers,
In our loves
rose sunflower and moonlit robes
Let your fine wine beauty
Unwind like Sighing Kisses
With Sweet and tender blisses,
Sigh my Sultry dove, Sigh My Iris love

Reynaldo Casison

Flower petals do not die
Fold them neatly
And place them on my upper thigh
Think about how they do treat me
Like I’m the thorn to a rose
Wishing to ***** their pointer finger
They don’t know me I suppose
Maybe when I grow up I’ll be a drinker
Drink myself to death and beyond
slouch upon my ***** couch
Thinking about the time when I was blond

Nepal
1920 BS
In the month of Mangsir
~
they met on the cold misty hillside.
Mist draped the mountains
their peaks covered in clouds.
Green terraces stretched along the hills.

~
She stood on a greenway
draped in a flowing Nepalese traditional dress
her long hair rippling in the soft gusts of air.
She turned & their eyes met
deep, significant & dreamlike.

~
Suddenly
tears welled in her eyes.
& for reasons he couldn’t name
they welled in his too
He reached to wipe them away
but with the cold wind of Mangsir
she disappeared
like every shade of burning paper blown toward the sky.
~
She disappeared
~
She disappeared
Yet
if she loved him
why didn't she leave a flower
where he first wiped her tears?

Why?

Art is born in a poets hand,
Though, like the fragile flower it is,
Art always crumbles to dust.

It drags the poet with it too,
For deep in their heart it grows its roots.
So when it fades, wrapping tight around their sickly heart,
The beating stops and they drop.

It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?

I walk through the garden,
In the light of day,
Rays of pink dawn,
Jumping through the fray.

Strolling long through the roses,
Bushes aligned in a beautiful bouquet.
I ran my hand through their blossoms,
Yet it came back with blood.

Snagged on the same beauty,
I was there to adore.
Dripping to the rocks,
Laying ugly on the floor.

What do we learn from the teachings of flowers —
That one does not grow in poisoned soil.
In unfavourable conditions, we wilt.
But we can heal from the root,
When cared for and place in nourishing spaces.
We grow, sprouting new life.
The might stem, building stronger cells,
Your bloom becomes brighter,
Opening up to the welcoming sun.
We learn a lot from the flowers
One just need be observant of its teachings.

The flowers inside my head eating away
at the decaying thoughts.
I hear them when it’s just quiet enough –
gorging.

Oh Mother, I’m fixing your mistakes.
You and me – made from the same two pillars:
dependency and suffering.

I tear them down
softly, slowly –
shedding what I have seen,
like a snake peeling its skin.

Everything I have ever known,
collapsing around me,
leaving things I have loved covered in ash –
my own Pompeii.

But I’ll make my own way out of
these rotten bricks.
That is my promise to you –
and myself.