Tend to Your Garden Mistress
Tend to your garden mistress
It lies fallow
And in need of tilling
You, thick legged in the bush
Seeking the mortification of vine and thorn
What penance can you find?
Pain; forgiveness?
The red-rashed past
That blushes your thighs
Is burned in sin that will not fade
And your confessions rise as thin smoke tendrils in
The dark with no trellised
Ear to cling to