back to poemmes frites
home to hellhed
the space between ocean and swamp,
is measured in beats,
fast, hard, pounding, slow, soft, delicate.
impatient and absolutely beautiful.
it is the rhythm of petals unfolding,
too subtly to touch without withering them.
to watch the bloom offer itself,
to take in the scent of it
with the deep, luxurious breaths of a lover's release,
and yet without the caress-
it is the best i can hope for,
and it is far better than i deserve-
i am too awake to dream dreams such as these.