Your soul is thin white lace
and my heart a window;
with me looking out at soft earth,
staring through your memories
like washed glass.

The yellow bulldozer is a like a

pastel smear

as it rips a hole in dirt and rock.

I like the prettiness of dark brown rising

in yellow jaws

like butterflies mating

in mid-air.

I do not mind the mechanic world

of burial

when I lie in soft sleep between sheets

of your satin spirit.

I pull your smoothness over me

and dream of flowers floating through space,

my hands reaching out slowly,

waving the stems like a magic wand,

filling the skies with ghost fragrances

until our world is sedated

with the scent of love.

I have opened my eyes on the other side

of my dreams

and I am seeing you.

Again and again, I am seeing you.

Physical Borg

1-30-1987