Some other creepage, like vines, up my legs—
gentle tendrils massage their telluric message
under skin, through muscle, into marrow—
keeping me earthbound.
Flesh’s crimson desires bleed
yearnings for unfettered eternity—
the passion of tongue
and eyes and ears and touch,
the blessed touch of fingertips
seeking home within your softness.
O Bindweed, ignore my prayer for freedom;
cling me to your earth, feed me
chlorophyll delights like a lover
who plunges into her anointed embrace
and perfumes me with sated sleep.
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