she sits in sunshine, resplendent,
her garden flowering around her,
a living golden-haired persephone,
eye of her sweet flora hurricane.
she is a warm, kind bitch,
who strokes ivy leaves with
the same hands that can so easily
curl into split-knuckled fists.
darling, darling of spring and summer,
bringer still of dead winter and dying fall,
touch hearts like you touch your plants
and bring these rotted pulses back to life.
her wife stands in the back doorway,
calls to her for dinner with songbird throat,
kisses sun-warm lips and soil-caked hands,
folds her between feather-flesh wings.
she commands the moon as much as the sun,
center of the universe, gravitational, orbit,
an earth’s core of magma behind her ribs,
hot leaking sun-bright energy: home.