Sweet Weed

” The creation of love, ( This is not falling in love)
Planted, Watered, Groomed, Nameless.”

Who needs fireworks when you have this to read.
Visceral. Instinctual…sparks.

Elan Mudrow

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The flesh of my lover’s body

Still taut within memory’s touch

That distance shaped my femininity

Her sweet, sweet, large lips, appeared

As a succulent rooted plant

Which allowed me into her meadow

To traverse the yard, to stretch within the clover

Tasting her dandelion, a wine, sweet weed,

The fuzz of her stalk still stuck to my tongue

I was loved for gathering the morning dew

Loose in her garden, leaning with the spin of Earth

I couldn’t stop growing. This she knew.

but now, cut clean as a thistle, a ragwort

Decayed, clipped, mowed down to a level field—

Away from dirt, my girlhood crumbled into dirt clods.

The color of my blossom strained a shady purple

The spiny leaves of my effort condemned me

Now, In the compost bin, I spoke babble 

To ivy, buttercups, and sore, sore sorrels

Who claimed they were willing to stay

Upon…

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