The Mysterious Wisteria Grows Beside A Seated Stone

 I was born at an early age.  Later, I came to resemble
my misconceptions and grew into the egg
I had been commissioned to avoid & exist in. 
In this way, we are issued. 
My freckled shell now sings etudes of memories in Chopin. 
Events have become things that happen through music. 
A star kitty floats between our arms and teacups tilted. 
In this way, we become a mewing collective. 
In this way, we share the effects of mercy and cocaine.
In this way, we emit and absorb the shocks of erecting walls
between us.
An African red blushes my inner cheek, where an unspoken
blood pools in thimble lips.  The thought of your papilla holding
steadfast when the hairs take root makes me quiver. 
You are a growing human moreso than ever charted before. 
I make marks on sidewalks and sand to move around you.
My shell is my torso in need of constant attention,
embarrassed by purging cutaneous hungers.
This flesh thins and the calcium startles bodies of water.
Instead of the rest, I wish the blue mountains would grow,
claim our terrain, eclipsed by a peacock’s transsexual mane;
I wish the first year would show again, confusion
built from happiness, viewpoints like smoke, afloat and attack
the senses looped through the eye of a wave
on a beach you see us through.   I wish
on a barge of ice with questions, you are a pleasant person
to spend the mood of the moment in, forever infused. 
I wish those lovelorn the bad stories with furnished rooms,
a chronic reverie to be carried by the shadow of the opal sea.

From I’M THE MAN WHO LOVES YOU
http://www.amazon.com/Im-Man-Who-Loves-You/dp/1934289337/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1213462823&sr=1-1