in all my deliveries I have lost my purpose
your pure wing
deserves
wind
and I am fumbling with a wheel of cheese
and a frothy vineyard
I have taken all my clothes and
hung them
like fragile roses
crooked on a closed line
and let my body
sag
into a single draping thorn
in the road
aimed to
bust your tire
and make you
pull over
this science
of
getting your attention
comes so close
to greed
that I cannot stare straight ahead,
but my religion
does not
relent
and I will put salt and pepper on my bed
if it
will
draw
you
near.
I Love You
Your Beloved
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