The gasping russet blush of western sun on the beige sands and distant mountains carries visions of your feathered tresses, tangling in a titianscape, a flushing wind rose, the breast alighted with gulde, buckets of sap boiled with skinned knuckles, the stirring glances of owls, dripping garnet, flesh burned brown, the rabbit’s footsteps in rust beds of ferric oxide, the quickening of blood, the sleepy passage of time, all fire and wine rising up to Bootes, the tobacco burning in the pipe, the tongue on the gums, the deep stain on cherry chests, the purplish kidney bean skin, the song emanating from the trees, the mermaids hair rising in the deep darkness of briney secrets, the intention of the lover with the special ink purchased, to stir some jot and tittle of feeling, the soft touch of leaves or feathers or tail on the face, the brush of lips, all that seems to describe my love’s hair, which fills me with a joy I could carve into the earth’s crust to be spotted from mercury, to be whiffed by the passing comets, to be sipped by mythic beings under eclipses

Tangled tamarind tendrils
Taming tigers
Teasing bowstrings taught and teaming
Always seeming to be citrine and tangerine tipped, dipped in coppery golden drips
Leaping and embrangled
Vines over laden with sweetness and wisdom confined to stillness in the dusty dark, a fuzzy fecund ferrous dross
of all that’s known of casting spark
The line of fault, the crackling light, the magma pitted with lightning strikes