Ash
Emlia Rose 
​
You can braid stars and cradle my
platinum tresses spilling over the
willow of waterfalls, I'll root up from
the barracks of Babylon far off from
this flatbed of rock, shell and Jack
Daniels on some atrophied night in
these thrice butchered fields just to
tell you I'm Loralee and perhaps by
that time I'll come home to stitch plaid
on your branch again, resuming our
porridge days and we can make leaf
print pastels by the shimmer of sun
lit sensation at this twisting of fate
where once we had flowered in dime
store poetics with the song of our souls
on the crosscurrents.