What We Mean When We Say Human Equality, or, Desert Garden Beds

What We Mean When We Say Human Equality
or Desert Garden Beds

In Phoenix we lye naked in gardens,
magenta gerberas curl around your waist
rainbow chard between your thighs
glistening in March rain, tasting
of creosote - hyacinth are reaching
indigo-flamed petals toward a fire
your mouth tastes of lavender,
"we don't know how lucky we are,"
I feel the earth open and close
pulsing in my hands, "we don't know,
how lucky…we…are…"

In Uganda, you are hiding, but I know -
petals follow you, all gems of desert dunes
dissolved into glass, I steal glimpse of you
half-smile - dead giveaway - stash your eyes
in the long breaths I take down
these steep laws of loving, the sun
against us, we touch here, if only
through wind.

My heart breaks open - just an organ in a flowerbed
come with scissors to prune me, scatter
me into the desert for the honeybees
that flavor each breeze with nectar
carry creosote from Phoenix to Uganda,
while magenta gerberas glisten
in Swiss chard gardens.