she kissed me – it was right before
she kissed the sunset, too;
the perfume of her thoughts was like
a ship of rainbows and bamboo

the way it floated on the air
and settled in my dreams;
the opal bracelets on her wrists,
were plotlines full
of themes

pellucid as her waking thoughts
but opaque as her dreams,
she walks the ways of an aesthete
on starlit balance beams

above a high and vaulted way
where naught it as it seems —
pellucid as her waking thoughts
and secret as
her dreams

she drew and colored by the hour,
and love just grew and grew;
not just for who she was, but for
the majesty in everything she’d do —

her royalty was not a thing
that could be taught or clutched,
but pow’r and magic in respect
of how she transformed everything she touched

for her, to touch
is to decorate;
the artist, who strives
to elaborate,
the random, symmetrical
or ornate

a life of
creation
and ideation;
perpetual
narration
and psychedelic
salvation

a thought broke out, i hear, last night;
it finally got some air –
about how we are meant to live,
and why we ought to care.

these ethical imperatives
can have lives of their own,
and tunnel under our defense,
right to our very throne,

where they insist on changing things.
it’s really most perverse:
how we should all be better, when
we’d rather just be
worse

see the pattern in your life,
know the reason that you’re you;
use the spoon and not the knife,
seek museum out, and zoo

see that you have not arrived,
know that passion is a choice;
walk the garden that has thrived,
cherish and then use
your voice

the flowers, like anemones,
are undulating in the breeze;
as she breathes in the universe
of everything she sees

she lives the beauty she imbibes
for everyone to see and know,
and undulates like flowers that
are happy both to stay
or go