Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

yellow blooms

he was a dead poet king
with a porch atop
the hollywood sign

we reclined

on his beloved engorged red tomatoes
growing in terra cotta pots

burning a vial of keef
given to me by zeus
at a night before dinner party

i remember thinking he looked
like a tennessee egyptian
as he passed me the long brass pipe and matches
smoke unfurling from his nose
his velvet and sand voice warned

if someone tells you
they think they just wrote their best poem

there is no best
i said
only pieces we find more resonant
we perpetually have a stronger write germinating within us

everything evolves until it dies

reciprocity is divine

stars were flung from our orbiting hands
as we collided
picking up the same flying champagne glass

exploding nebulae
of bubbly reverie sent spinning

my fingertips
covering my geisha lips

when he said

that’s the thing i love most about you
the way you place a hand to your mouth
when you laugh

it’s like for one more stolen moment
you are holding the happiness inside

the yellow blooms hanging about us
began their bowing prayers for the sunrise

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