sepaloid, the last version

 

 

 

Everything we do now cozies up to spring;

there is something so mortal about you

so possible, conceivable. There's no shame

in me asking the undertaker for your torch,

your teeth for the notes sounded on the hunting horn;

that glandular mossy calyx and flower stalk (yes)

your tender sepal for lifes devotion. The

moon with it's predictable beginning

and zydeco   sounds scraping  the lake back

like the eyes of a   vampire. And us, then

fastened securely like a mortise stew

of love and sex and holding eachother,

 

as the cause of death.

Reviews

[Tree]

Mortise stew? one of the better, more colorful and vivid of love making metaphors I've ever read; then it being the "cause of death" ? was emotive, stirring. You are not just a weaver of words, poet. You conceptualize ideograms, in the mind of the reader