May the snakes wrap around a tire tread
in the mid-day sun.
I want to love you closer than that.

I want us to be cats
who scratch each other’s backs.
I want to hold you though
like a calico
to his scratching pole
yawning out the degrees of separation.


Nibble on your vulnerable ear
a folding, crumbling white chocolate ganache,
a reservoir of white noise;
later a receptacle of competing
reassurances and fears.

Curl your ears; Nyx and her companion,
the cream of oblivion,
is here to lead you lonely, beside me.


Polyester sales, silkscreen petals,
virulent hells over pale belles,
shaking expectant bells,
constantly, trying to capture the world–
the attention of a beautiful girl.

Laying, listening to symphony,
tympani, and oyster shells,
Virginia’s blue bells, folding screens where nudes dwell,
recording hands, so nervous on the inky wells,

a drowned world,
parting, partial decadence–
a beautiful girl.


Sepals, petals, freckles:
Orchis, they tried to put you back together.
These elements are the best that they can do.

Your labellum, a violet pouch, hangs dour,
weeping for the incarnation of a flower,
coupling only with the insect-taker.

Your bulb, a sac of root tendrils, mouthing in haste
in firebrand-debate with hot ground.
A disabled ear tries to hear
an orchid speech.

But everything you have to say
is of warmth and beauty,
wrapped in an ornamental sheath of crazy.

You telecast,
“I have sinned, true.
But unlike the rose,
I had thoughts,
and I chose,