15 03 2010

the anchor of my disposition
flung and insistent
legs splayed in a dance

bow legged nymph
radiant as science
and magic stumbling

Why do I love her?
I could provide a litany
of reasons beyond reason

such as melting poetry
archives of fingertips
Shall I go on?

I noticed the arrangement of her hair
from this I could tell she was cautious

by the tell-tale dirt under her nails
I knew she was a gardener.

but her face, her face
was like a mirror
in her eyes I saw mine

but I seized her anyway
she resisted
but only for a syllable

she claimed to have invented gardening
so I worked my tool
into the agriculture of her thighs

by the curve of her waist
I predict the seasons.




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