pleasure

pleasure

 

He does not see the sky as more beautiful and bright

In the dying light

 

He has always known that blue is blue

And radiant

And that clouds are soft

And tantamount to the pillows of a goddess

Roughly pushing luck and privilege

In and out of lives

 

He does not stare more keenly at the moon and stars

He has always known that precious celestial cars

Have driven him to worlds he craved and cherished

 

He does not regret the solid diving into pleasure

To have arrived here with so much sensation thrill and leisure

And then to perish

 

There is something perfect

In the deconstructed pose of willows

Meant to weep and droop and plummet to the ground

Like fonts of leaves rooted in the earth

With trunks that smile and frown

Groaning merrily sheathed by blades of grass

On mounds of dirt

 

Tall proud flowers desolate and happily bound by inches

Feet of ashes dust and earth