The lilacs are blooming.
I have never made the acquaintance of their fragrance.
Only the artificial imitations peddled in the market.
How much like you.
The howling continues.
I hear the voices clearly on the wind and recognize you.
I hear your laughter cleanest in the frauds in the market.
This too, is you.
The oil is spreading.
I did not intend for this to be an offering to you.
A private matter made a public puzzle, a fig to the market.
Yet here, is you.
Asperges me.
Shower on me the scent I do not know that graces the bellowing bull.
Let me spread on you the offering never found in any market.
This desire that is you.