Even when you do show up
like a belt in the hand
of love arranged
by flowers blooming one by one,
you’re still my favorite butch florist
at dawn, praising the stems
hard green bravado before
light on the vase whips you into shape,
blurring the cost of fondle and fade,
what little old ladies from Texas call sin
when repentance is missing from the bouquet,
replaced by a rainbow of ribbons.
Daniel Edward Moore lives in Washington on Whidbey Island. His work is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry Journal, Triggerfish Critical Review, Watershed Review and Passengers Journal. He is the author of the chapbook “Boys.” His book “Waxing the Dents,” is from Brick Road Poetry Press.
