The dark print of your finger still has an outline for cricks into my pith
Clear and full-bodied sat in my interior like an organ
Inbred same as that sable gape you gave in the honor of the eldest
It's tangible folding itself a staple between me and the vignette of my shadow
Tucked with the perfection of thorns, bristles on a stalk_ a proginy's columns of crutch
All of them; hands bathed in the occult rose belly are just tar parts though their green burgeoning
Innocence dwindles at the call of my name in his violent location,
The manner he barls my face
Eyes the veil of a man, eyes of every career but of The Planter
I smarted to be held against
Geraniums eating at my last name,
Blooming scarlet of the hibiscus asking who forebeared me 'who did ?'
In a coffin squeal: 'I'm from the basket, from the garden too ! He made me from a seed ! His heart's cotton ! He bore me belonging !'
The flowers rearrange their formidable raised petals in the grip of the picker
I perched in the boughs watching the selection of candidates
"He'll come back I budded this year !"
It has been twenty-one years I've been repeating this cheer
8/2/2024
