At thirteen, she had desirable braids
And black licorice on her tongue.
A kite and conviction. She was paradise.
The corners of her plush territory cast
attractive shadows on her thigh.
My stamen knifed its cotton cage.
She was persimmon and luminous.
Pragmatic on the porch in Bakersfield.
Her intensities, punishment,
were smooth as sandalwood. (complete poem, click below...)