Moon dive chest
Bobak Cyrus Bakhtiyari
August 7, 2004
It comes as dry cedarwood rubbed
On itchy palms,
A grieving terror in my rosebed chest
Of warm spring-combed flowers.
There is light,
A contour of tortured pistachio
Then Hermes toes.
The periphery of the garden is
As crying pregnancy aligns the shamans
On the moon.
Brings lulling creek water,
Warm water through a head of snow covered hills.
On the tangling of small pine cones
In wet velvet hair.
The breezing curtain is the humming skirt of
I love you
The shine of cosmos spread-loud truth
Night eyes through my veins.
Your treatise is of the moon
There are grandma colored owls prying
Inside every one of your biconcave beads.
I promise not to tell
of the seventh universe.
goodbye to spam!