Plotting

In your west garden

I woke in deep violet

your faint, still silhouette

against the sunlit ivy.

Were you coming or going?

 

Church bells chime at nine.

 

Will you lie with me

lie beneath these curled green leaves

fingers on my chest

rose lips against my left ear

whisper those three words three times?

 

Lay out fresh loaves and red wine.

 

Make believe you are

my angel in this garden

press your bare pink skin

against mine, and lie to me

tell me you'll always love me.

 

Baptize or drown me.