Friendship,
skins peeling in equity;
silken curves that crash down
the edge of my ears,
like waves
feel into you,
into each.

words drip.
you are peace.

Friendship,
writing into my spring;
fall cooing winter’s despair,
bended-tree whispers,
I listen, as
soundness reasons
with her own insanity.

blood-bitters soak.
you are quiet.

Friendship,
music calling as a dove
rippling within sincerity
encircling my smile;
drenched,
seen into water’s edge
satire satisfactions
appease rejoices,
the you within each we.

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

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