Yes it’s true,

i haven’t loved you as i should have

and this unfurling of whiskers continues

day after day in the socially unacceptable garden under my arm pit.

How dare i mention black tipped sands growing out of heat and sweat and tar ?

Because like you 

i’m seed and root,

 love and truth, 

dentin and  innumerable insecure  smudgings   

growing like grass,

falling like leaves 

under an autumn sky …


come next spring, plant your lawn chair 

next to the weeping willow 

where

            the hyacinth 

                                            fell,

                         watch 

           my petals 

unfold