If I Love You Isn’t Enough
consider this:
You are to me a childhood
windmill, yellow plastic joy
clothes pins hanging
the smell of suns’ shine
Chitimacha artist’s basket:
Woven swamp cane, split by teeth
Dyed like blue of veins
and floating.
You the coded Braille
to my fingerprints, fireflies
in a heart jar, ice in the hot
of my mouth.
You like Friday’s flames
Monday’s coffee black,
two sugars no cream:
my escape from tired.