Roguing

Ripped from her victory garden
With promises of Roses & Violets
Sugar & Sweet compliments

Tiny poems as pollen

Soon left alone, till in hand
Thistle seed as some parting gift
So goes love to life

Roguing now, she

Mothering nature
In the early Spring sun
Blamed, but cultivating, still

Torqued

I will gift you
Machine man, me
Eyes clear now
Future-ready
Take your Soldier hand
Study, journey with you
This trip around the Sun
We familia

I will gift you
Speed demon, victory
Bodies torqued
This skin, yours
Time trials completed
Finish line, Westward
This whispered promise
We checkered-flags

I will gift you
Sugar boy, pie
Feed you tenderly
Sing to you
In perfect pitch
Make a wish
This catch-me vision
We with lights on

Rockstar

In the perfect of now, get in line

Come see my spine
Singing prettily
My strong, fractured song

Standing upright, dancing, sprinkling
Cinnamon-sugar safety

In the spotlight of my doorstep

Samaria

I live on a lonely block

Hope and Delusion my only neighbors

They never talk to one another

Something about a falling out many millennia ago

So I, the conciliatory soul, am the go-between

And am making much progress

Sometimes they loan me sugar

All-too-willingly, it seems

But I gotta pay it back quick

Else they threaten all-nighters

Dissonant music at full volume

“Is it worth it?” I often ask aloud

They reply in unison, of course

Butter Cream

I remember cake not stained by the hurry-hurry dye of “let’s get this done, before too many take note of another year added….”

I’ll choose the sweetness of grateful desire to linger over the celebration of seasons represented there at the table, the love not subtracted.

Need

How would the rodents speak

What words would they say

“Yes, you, bring berries to your back yard

And all manner of citrus and apples alike

Fresh, full with fructose, on these barren of days

We planned well for the season

The Winter in May of the Spring

Evidence our good-faith actions

Our holes in diligence dug

Where we find once again, our daily bread

While our feathered Southern friends, oh!

How they need, need, need your hand

We’ll let them dine

We promise”

Soda

Where were we recently, beautiful boy, where you sat so close to me -bubbling happily at having used your voice- and smiled, finally, finally receiving all you so earnestly wanted (a simple enough request, so why’d you been denied so long, we both thought simultaneously), for it’s only sugar, and, after all, what harm could it cause…what trouble might it make?

Forbidden

I decorated myself with you
Reached, but in no way grasped

Sprinkled you about me
Without the care whether or where

You landed
Beautifully, making a mess

Twice, I was asked incredulously
Is this safe

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