…a sweet scent that beckons tender lips to draw near…your fringe are forked tongues, quick to morph to viper fangs, softly puncturing with a milky venom of quiet numb and stuttered heart… …your centermost folds, coiled as an ear that you lend to whispers, to secrets, to hidden depths of the psyche, thoughts of both friends and foes and ills of self… …a steady hand, respecting of your lethal, bids you the care you need, the distance you desire and require… …tending to you, I speak of your growth and beauty, I acknowledge the pain you’re capable of in my gestures, but continue with the care of you, deserving and rewarding…the truth of you…at the forefront of my mind is that which makes you deadly, that which bestills my heart with your addition to my garden…that which keeps me returning, learning…about the truth of you, the truth in me… …

E.A. O'Connell. June/2019