Poetry: Tending the Garden

A hoe and a smile, that's how it always starts.

Followed closely by her eyes, probing

my charisma for a place to bury

deep green seeds.

I will weed her thighs

of all the guys

that came before me. We might

sprout something if she is

patient enough for me to show

her the sun. Love might

grow in my potted chest

if she realizes some days

you need tears to wash

away the past, we can flourish

in the mud. With or Without cash.

No worries.

A conversation nourishes growth

and her number doesn't hurt either.

We can hold hands like balls of roots

that tighten beneath the soil.

I water our kisses daily with

attentive ears and arms twisted

tight around her slight frame.

You have to dig out anxiety,

prune worry from her face.

I can't forget that

being single is like turning the soil,

tedious and slow with few results.

But being with her blooms sunflowers

behind my ears, and apples of

temptation fall along the path we walk.

We may never go hungry

if we work together

in the fields of dreams

where we come.

(From the collection Delirium, Delirium.)