The legs are two folded petals
tucked supplely under the weight of your torso.

The arms are a cloak thrown over the thighs;
hands are the frayed ends, fingers the wands.

The head nods at the end of its stalk
from day to day, toppled;
often forgetting it is attached.

Shooting up through you sits "The idea."
It balances over top the body and head like an egg.

The heart is gunfire,
semi-automatic.
Your hidden heart stands above the rest,
gnarled and crimsoning the strands.

It has grown into all parts of you,
and all your parts have inscribed into it
the memory of percussion.

you're maybe atoms)but)oh how nicely they are
supplely arranged in a neat package of *******
thighs hips divinely springing with soreness
hurting to be sick with lips
                                                  A
                                                       Disease you
like an incriminate of life want to ******
your pert body on my love sword
                                                                A
                                                                     Blade
you like to put in your mouth unlike (sharper
than) a razor upon which teeters my senses
febrile bulging festering with you

                                                          A
sickly with needing for pain girl
(if you want i'll hurt you like
how you like to be hurt
                                          )
                                            A
                                                Sort of almost
                                              pain which if
                                            you do it right
                                          feels so much
                                        better

A shiitake dreamer in séance here trust her hands of clouds
for she is one ready as Columbia whole
only she inhibit feelings, fear or wrath
with her kind of inclination found now might supplely bind hers
or daily bread shall dissolve her breath,
a ****** in sun dried tomatoes
fore dually her thought of heart leaving
mellow her wish with pleasure once again
that her kingdom bound where a prayer now her staple
with much to share allow her providence, today.

a branch sways it
bends
supplely it

folds

not an
inch

only

to
break

Let one thousand flowers bloom
But choose one to your liking
What a beautiful watercolor loom
Where we can intertwine our lightning
The sepal pedals must unfurl subtly
(then supplely) handle the pistil
Stigma, style, pollen so lovely
As is anther and stamen to fistle

We are told to talk lovingly to our plants
No trashing
I want to give this flower
A good tongue lashing
Then I’ll bump a daisy
And for her garden an Arum Titan
Flowers blooming and nothings hazy
As we sail on to the horizon