Truth is so brief as is the pleasure of night.
This is dedicated to my short-lived mind.
Did you meet her last night?
She wants to hear smells and smell words—
pass on obvious answers, forget the high noses and the heavy heads.
Beauty—when it lives
we won’t forget our bodies.
Her truth will become home
inside the memory of a wandering mind.
This is really dedicated to a flower I met called “the pleasure of night”. She sleeps during the day and opens herself at night, releasing her seductive scent, to never open again. Her neighbors follow her example night by night. Though the blossoms never seem to cease.