I will bring you to the oleanders,
gathering in the arbors of my dreams.
I will guide you into that sullen meadow
through vines and ivy, loosestrife,
thriving upon its own destruction.
I will wrap you in goldenrod,
gossamer mists and blossoms of cherries.
Sunken deep in the murk, a lullaby.
Down by the night-blanched willows
a slumbering cougar waits.
I slouch, knowing scars
are forever. But without destroying
the sweetness of pale and perfect skin
how can I possibly hope to create?
c. Melissa K. Dalman, 2007
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