I felt so guilty taking

With a carelessness

And passion

No different than weeding a garden

Choosing to pluck the vivacious flower

Like a common upper-lip hair

The moment was an asymptote

Beforehand converging on triumph

Now on sin

To take the freedom of being rooted

From that flower

Was as yellow of me

As the sun that fed it

What a fool I was

To get myself so wet

Between those rocks

Only to derobe their gentlest edges

Now I sit

Like a convict

Shifting my eyes on a park bench


Is this what it’s like to be another’s first lover?


I have made this flower

An immigrant