Was I ever P like a penguin, living in icy paradise,
or free like the D
in dandelions petaline yellow rays
in wind
though their feet trapped in green,
hand in hand with sun
the vagabondage of your springs?
Was I ever a R
in a raspberry, reddening the lips
of all my lost mistresses
in the summer field fairies.
B like a banquet at your feet
or at list
a rose petal
between the V of your breasts?
Was I ever a H
like a heart shape pillow
under the silken skin of your dreams,
the dreams of all pinks?
Was I ever a mole, a “period”
in the end sentence of your endless beauty
writing red and luscious
in the line of your lip
that pronounce F like fiver
in the stove of your tongues
baking a K
like a kiss?
