I think of your queen-of-the-night Its petals so delicately slender because you never watered it I always imagined it was somehow more inherently graceful than others As if each occurrence smells better and better in every memory Once, when I was a child and my grandmother woke me up to appreciate the heap of dust-covered leaf-straps that lived unnoticed in the doorway of the old farm. Like an alien in plain sight. I think of those nights, in the subtle awe and wonder of beautiful secrets, ever-present in the mundanity. in the gentle surprises that echo within, I think of you fondly, of the softness of your petals and the rigidness of your character, and the endless cunningness of your graceful shape, illuminated in moonlight. And I yearn as if the desert, for kind surprises on balmy nights. In such a way that if I sit really still, I could somehow become the night itself; wrapped around you, wherever you are.
