Come to my window
in mired value,
alternative way of
expressing color
temperatures,

you've been down
that pine-scented
road,

think by now you
know the term
saltwater taffy came
when a storm blew
waves over a vendor's
tray of pink taffy,

Come to my window
shipshape, as neat as
the knife-edge crease
in your khakis,

post-card vignette,
your harness writes
poetry and publishes
well-received volumes
of orgasmic verse,

Come to my window,
see the amber skyline
in the backdrop, how
tiny it looks to the
bigness of the bush,

and how it melds
together so that it
is hard to see where
the bush ends and the
suburb begins, swirling
in the corporate glow,

Come to my window,
come face-to-face
with it, come to me
across the parquetry
on the floor, follow
the scent of the bush
and the lavender oil,

The curtain of erotic
rights of passion and
disclosure, silk from the
secretions of a fuzzy
caterpillar,

I take a deep breath
as you come to my
window...


Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist