In the garden of minds,
You are the dew drops on hibiscus,
The soft dirt around freshly watered azalea.
You skin is soft to the touch,
Just as the petals of the evening primrose.
Sheathes of moonlight blanket the splits of your hands.
You are the flora, the fauna;
The breathes of fresh air in this winding existence.
The line patch of dames, violet on the side of an asphalt plain.
Beauty of the daytime muse—violent and wild,
And so, deserving of this quiet but passionate appreciation.