For Blossom'

It’s her eyes
and the circles underneath them
her rhythms
of month
and night

Her friends
her purse
her handbag

Her boobs
Her labour
Her pool
Her blood

The waters she swims
Her belly
Her brood and her guy
Her first born
The skies

Her phases
Her pass
Her feasts
and famines

The cheesy songs
Charles Aznavour
The four foot longs
she foregoes
The absence of her rage

Her ink
the tricks
how she never gets sick

But her life is tears
I wish she’d slap me
As I speak

Breathing cycles
Those calculations
the evil margins
Her notes imprinted
Her grudges judges
Lonely fudges

Power tripper
Childhood skipper
Angry bird
double dutch
Her annihilations
Are absurd
And she knows
and she hates it too

As the engineers rate it
as the integers relate it
yeah she might want no
Calls to ring
or care for diamonds
she’ll say most anything
just to get their/there/they’re
Once

Dearie.