Horticulture Stories

Fire breaks across a dying horizon, Riverfront factories and scrapyards Slipping down the bank Into the cold black waters of blindness. In a few minutes It’s going to feel like midnight again She’s going to come out of the shower In panties and damp hair And cross the room keeping to the wall She’s going to pause and turn halfway And lay eyes on you Narrowed and intent With so much hungry love The syllables of your breath...