what I say and what I want
to say, a thousand
thousand lilies grow and throw
their perfume everywhere—
oh they could give a shit
about propriety
or rules
or scores
or lists of tiptoed shoulds.
And they don’t give a damn
about some petty pleasantries
around the weather.
Sometimes I fancy
you can smell
their warm and honeyed
fragrance,
bright and lively,
fancy you might
visit all these petals
arching through our awkward spaces
oh so pinkly,
fancy you might find delight
in how
with unguarded exuberance
they thrive
(can you smell them?
I do)
in these miles and miles
of provocative
untouched sweetness
so bountiful
between us.