Waiting Stomata

Waiting Stomata
Poem by Henry SanDiego, written for his beloved fiancé Alison

I was a flower a soft tender flower
Ticking away hours
No bees to kiss my petals or stomata
I was dour oh so dour

I pretended to be a rose but not meant to be
My tender soft petals pedestrian hiding pb
Hollow and wanting love truthseeker my larrup
Oh he was so sad I had truth fled a daily plea

For you see I had found my life giving soil
From years of emerging from a injured coil
I needed my soil called baby baby, Alison or Kumquat
So from rose oil I went to palm oil

Closed my eyes and prayed for baby baby to give me a big hand
Tumbling in tears and fear the gleen of no hope go away
A helping hand, a loving hand, her beautiful soon manicured hand
She smiled and in her off Cockneyed way eyes smiled and face scanned

I fell so deeply in love with her tummy, face and hair
My carrot top companion, friend, soil, helping hand
The greatest pain for me is not her bidding goodbye with a glare
But life misfortune somehow our wonderment foreswear

Baby baby and I have lives seemingly gardens bathed luckless
Warm rain so hard for or to trust or feel safe wretched within
Fear the less or understand more more lower class moreless
So finding our mates bootkicked and not sure and unsure actless

The singular moor, solid branch was the baby babys gaze
So tender, and I must I know treasure every instant
Lest some stupid act cause us waste a smiles ray, miday or forbid any whole weekdays
Runaway minds dripping filled the last we clutched together as constant replays

Waiting, eyes closed head raised slightly left sensing behind me, slow imagined risings
Breathless, softly weeping listening to her voice, tears and breastings
Over ear telephones to the letterbox, movie player in place before me
Nightly placebo, to warm the flotsam and jetsmere of the cold apart world

End
Aug. 30 2009, sandiego

2009 copyright Henry SanDiego