Annie wrapped her chiffon around me,
Light as it might have been,
The sturdy intertwining threads latched tightly together hugged firmly to my flesh,
Binding me, with the softest lace, to her beating chest,
The warmth of which escaped her skin, to heat me in my rest,
And temper me with the jostling beat of her rhythmic steps.
I am awakened by the scented scenery:
Evergreen and musty weeds which mingle with her breath,
The dirt and earth and broken branch,
Smelling sweet with sticky sap.
I was a god then,
When servitude steered downwards to those who grow up.
Like seeds and me and baby bumble bees,
And god was everything that grows up,
And the wise men knew that,
Who shined like the sun,
Serving light like a blanket on a baby's bare bum.
Serving words like a garden to nourish the young,
And meant kindness with the words they sung.
...I miss that.