Jasmine + Azalea

Our lips are made of daisies
and our cheeks are strewn in roses,
pressed to opaque lilac air,
knotted fingertips brushing
blooming beams of naked feuillage,
buds drafted in sunlight, welded
in his blurry hands

Bronze is the sky, embellished in
daisy petals, bestowing us
in two drops of sun that splash
upon our caramelized tongues,
a seed, our fingers lace together
in vines of jasmine and azalea,
rainbows soaring

From our eyes,
our hands, our lips are born
bubblegum carnations, neighbor
to the melting sky, a strip
of snow white calla lilies,
although her prince is no longer
in this garden anew,
pumpkin-descended marigolds,
closest to the rainbow soil

Our cheeks are strewn in roses and
our lips are made of daisies,
their corners turned up, up, up
to the seeding bronze ether
because no shade and no
zebra monochrome
can make our garden wilt.