Were promised to me in the secret language
of if only. I had a falling

asleep of us in that space where we exist
best, all pear

orchards and humid cafes. We wandered
miles of cotton ocean, deltas

of all the traditions we made smirking eyes
at, fingered the clumsy

phrases we used to undress our nerves, toyed
with bodies hedged in poinsettia.

Stare at a bleeding: notice the shape
and the beauty, the hue of its petals

and all it evokes in my memories. Pull it
from the ground and hold it

close to you. Evoke for a second the smell
of my hair and close your eyes:

remember the bullish whisper of your awe
at the minotaur we built between us.