Like It Is
Here is a spray of heliotrope
in fuchsia bloom. Here is the fool
who said I do. Here is the grope
that started it all, a small granule
of undissolved sugar. Tarry
and it's whisked away by the cruel
waiter who lives by an estuary.
Why do we want to redesign
hip pockets anyway? You bury
the curses next to the common thyme;
I mulch them with shame worn sleek
with worry. Whatever stars align
themselves on this -- um -- yawn -- antique
affair, let blaze out. Elephant
on the couch: we crowd the ends, sweet geek.
Let's name the beast, its elegant
urn-like rump. Let it elope.
Our love was ever indigent.