i remember taking a stroll
to a lane for the brave and bold.
bashing what we crave, we have been told
to be careful and to never be alone.
the world out there grows,
gawky or stocky, six feet tall vines
or shorter in inches, a four-inch fall whine.
a late bloomer rose soon to blossom in cherry,
an early red’s bosom ripened with huge berries.
the capitulum of an excited dandelion
disperses their seeds for the wind to hold upon.
it lays still on the moist earth
to grow and grow to blanket over the dirt.
there was i, besides a plucked out weed,
a sudden flush of pink painted my nose,
while under the far-sighted cosmos;
an endless chalk dotted blackboard.
and there he was, besides a wildflower,
bounded by rules to never deflower.
so we slept through shooting stars,
we weren’t star-crossed nor far,
we sang to our conscience a lullaby
to let it fall asleep within our alibis.
i leant against cold shoulders,
aroused by lavender and flowers in burst.
the grass tickled me with trickles of its sweat.
oh, what is this throb that i have met?
