The palms
The waxy thick green so still
Smoothly you crawl toward the light seeking liberty
The stem so crisp some fresh asparagus
Spiralling your drunk torso
Deliver delight,
How could you be so hip
"At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poem." – certainly not by Plato
The palms
The waxy thick green so still
Smoothly you crawl toward the light seeking liberty
The stem so crisp some fresh asparagus
Spiralling your drunk torso
Deliver delight,
How could you be so hip