Milk Blood
I was not carrying milkweeds like a maiden when you met me.
The thunderous blood-red holler my ear yet not been acquainted with.
You rode your moods like a vaquero. In and out of ranges near swirling up motes so thick and far you were nothing but a speck. I like to think I am a queen of our tiny kingdom-- though the monarch you are.
The flowing milk from the mothers breast became the host and breadth and depth of your trough. I am milkweed. You are monarch. You have and endless symbiotic DNA, that dines on energy. I flow like magma and cool to a crust of the earth that man tramples over into dust.
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