digging in your early morning garden,
the crescent moons of dirt darken your nails.
dreams still ripe with brittle tulips
propped against a cardboard sky
thickening with bird song.
yellow Polaroid sunlight
bleeds around the edges of the night.
your knees have pressed the damp earth
into the hem of your slip. The sky has tangled
into your hair, a perfume of freshness.
my mouth is treacherous with sleep
so I lie into the pillow as you turn the shower on.
the pink slip falls from your hips, a flower
wilted now collapsing into a puddle on the floor.
light from the bathroom punctuates the dark delta at the
intersection of the fragile geometry of your belly to the
steadfast curves of your pale legs.
hinting at a smile as you turn to disappear into the water.
I loose my self in the ennui of the first cigarette.
a ragged king wrapped in the memory
of purple now thinning to yellow,
seams are only suggestions of coherence.
I dress and leave to hide in
another day
.
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