i haven’t loved you as i should have
and this unfurling of whiskers continues
day after day in the socially unacceptable garden under my arm pit.
How dare i mention black tipped sands growing out of heat and sweat and tar ?
Because like you
i’m seed and root,
love and truth,
dentin and innumerable insecure smudgings
growing like grass,
falling like leaves
under an autumn sky …
come next spring, plant your lawn chair
next to the weeping willow