Violent weeds kneeling

Greyest green sap is running over,
we mutter under sour juniper
bushes
mutely of all the previous eves;
and higher, bold Jupiter
blushes.

I've never slept in something
so Eden-worn, gardens are lying if they
speak too greenly.
The invitation to knowing you is
so close, I shouldn't
bite so keenly.

The eyes cave in,
a dull
green, unseen
as the grass
after moonlight
has sipped her night
full.

Climbing the creases around the face,
navigating with tongue in cheek,
I won't succumb to musk
filtered through leaf-light; I
scream teeth-talk
into a creamy corner of your shoulder,
we fit when we fight.

And violent weeds eat each other
for space, pulsing boys
take each other's place.

But they kneel without
understanding, pushing
against each is only
leeching the rushing;

dismounting aches so
after galloping down a
rougher road.

j 25/04/06

(I struggle ridiculously against any idea of romance, blame sleep loss for the blind metaphors and blame the general idea of philosophy for the love-phobia effect.)