she is your flower child

your woman-girl

an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place

the melodia always at the back of your throat

a slip of memory

tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart

there to unfold

again and again and again.

and you will remember this vixen-child:

her flowing hair, her open flesh

the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples

the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt

you will remember:

her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame

all of this offered to you

all of this gathered for you

from the chagrined pleats

of your mothers’ ferrous skirts

of your fathers’ flannel suits.

before too long the years will shift

clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them

you don’t even know it

you shouldn’t even know it

she won’t let you know it, at least not yet

so be with her now, in this moment of this night

in this moment of this night that will last forever

because it is all that matters

because it will always matter

mount her, take her, fuck her, love her

forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning

remember yourself in her wide-open giving

save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts

she is your flower child

and you will remember

because she is writing herself onto your heart