my patchwork
heart has no
demilitarized zone
no contested acres
but a smooth
clearly defined
of wildflowers
tangled in her
delicious smile

despite the
apparent delirium
in the didactic
revisionist histories
there is no
ounce of doubt
for whom these
folded flaps of
ink stained pages
beat softly throughout
the night for

you can lead
a reader to poetry
but you cannot
control the way
their desires color
the way they perceive
the electron
so i whisper
my intent along
with a kiss to the
summer’s breeze
and move on
to the next verse


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