Greg Slode Poet Epitaph

Epitath Of A Garden Grown

Epitath of a garden grown

You turn me on
In a better world
You would have to pay
The feel of my youth has disappeared 
In waves of never again 
In the smell of a fresh rain
In skies of flowers blooming
Leaves burning
Recently cut wood
The catch of a breeze delivered by the sleeve of a perfume
She is ocean fresh with a touch of sex
A find so accidental yet compelling and mysterious
A smell of the beach and her visitors
At the dock or by the lake skipping stones

Like a love that you once had
And you always go back to
Iam not talking while you're bull froggin
Don't disturb her
In her head 
She hides a truth
In the garden 
She will offer you tomorrow
Like a rose in the wind
you never have to ask 
Where have you been
Feelings shared engraved in cement every moment
You are alone
Your fantasy of a kiss
Don't lose sight of the one you follow
For someone who suddenly shows up 
Suddenly aware
 of spoiling passion 
Her  fruit of crave
In the quiet of the full moon
She weeps for a new tomorrow

Like a love that you once had
And you always go back to
Iam not talking while you're bull froggin
Don't disturb her
In her head 
She hides a truth
In the garden 
She will offer you tomorrow

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