Your smile as wide as weeds,
not dandelion, not wish gone to seed.
but buffalo burr, pretty as it is noxious,
stinging spines beneath vibrant yellow petal
bite make nerves of wild horses die screaming,
dilate the pupils wide makes the eye drown in light.
Your tongue Angels Trumpet wise women wear
behind their ears lick the delicate drum to keep the oracle
alive, humming some celestial song until the bones
dance in that cochlear golden ratio ripples until
the hair stands on end, as Sybil in chiffon
burning her cherished books to ash
as every true prophecy, perishable.
Photo by Sean Foster on Unsplash
