Little red buds to be opened on your birthday
Leaving scratches on your good leg
While branches bruise the bad
I’m covered in those
Climbing vines
Strong enough to hold your mourning
And your limp and sobbing body

Suspended from that tangled mess of
Wild grape
Sour little marionette, take off your
Vulgar purple dress and wrap yourself
In my more verdant hues
High in your climb
View marsh inlet, your tears to mimic

Through the tide of yesterdays
The Blur is beautiful
Sweet thing letting the salt sting
and scrape
and melt
sugar and lust you’ve frescoed your eyelids with

Sit shaking, held in my Crooke, wild lamb
No longer alone in orphan
Now
A child of the blooming instinctive silent
Crying in her fathers arms