Garden

To be pretty for you I have dropped

two seeds of turnsole in the dark

of both eyes. I grafted

apple to the quickest

vein in either wrist. I dug a ounce

of poppyseeds where

teeth should be, plugged

my ears with golden balls

of iris. I carved a hole in

either breast to swaddle

dahlias overwinter, like you, so

frightened of the cold.

My mouth grows hot with

purring, with the tunneling of

bees. My tongue, become a catacomb

the wings will fill

with scent.

My skull, for you,

ceramic bowl of flowers you may

hurl against the wall.

I am ready. Lead the way.