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
…run
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
