though her eyes may be the soil of interplanetary wastelands
frequently visited by blue morpho
and she walks on ribbons of dawn
juggling my consciousness in her sleeve
She talked in eight octaves massaging necks of Navajo flutes
as beams bounce from fairies onto her skin
reimbursing the incinerating of icons
She scattered memory seeds
and watered them
I once touched her
when we were in human form
That dissolved into the perfection of yesterdays
replayed in high frequency daydreams
where she challenges the end of beginnings
Her kiss stole me
in stereophonic maths
her laughter splashed my inner children
She wore chain-less moons
that dangled from her earlobes dropping crystals into her breasts
paraphrasing ballet
She redefining the soar of flight
bound in the secret craft of butterflies
Her lives cling to her palms
brushed with green mornings
fracturing the light on her compulsion to connect
I touched her human form
Her with the cutest gluteus
whom I believe to be the holy grail of men
when it felt like I was probably being born again
