← v3n2, Fall 2004
Poetry · Volume 3, Number 2

The Garden of Sex II

Here, purples of salvia cast

tiered whorls of shade

from each small dark torch.

Their lingering pungency

masks every doubt. Their

healing denies

any violence, the incisions of loss.

They gainsay with blurred

coaxing silences

the sulphurous tansy's sun-stricken

risk. And so they erase

its posed oppositions—sly poison

or bright, piquant herb? One

more thing

doubled. You might wish

for more clarity. Still,

believe this: there's no wounding here, no

griefs, deprivation. Only

what seeps and what tangles,

denying you nothing, or nothing

you want.