Wouldn’t it be lovely to emerge
(as a flower)
Into the sweet dusky tendrils,
The humming kiss,
Into the warm blue leftovers of the horizon’s grave,
Singingly dusted with sidelong incipience
And promise

To arise unfurling from
The damp earthy womb,
And watch twilight glide
Like an empty golden dress,
After seventeen years,
To breathe.

Wouldn’t it be lovely to emerge
Fully-winged,
The aboriginal heartbeat,
The primordial inheritance
Fulfilled,

To alight with brothers and sisters
Towards waiting starts
And grasping branches-

The emerald fingers of grass left
Bereft and longing,
Clutching your nymphal skin
Like a bauble,
The empty shell, glowing,

While you scream love.