and she hastened to stop
while sternly deciding to fore go
In the dreary midst of mankind’s mayhem
she dreamed of him
the one that would wash away the musk
of yesterday
and cleanse the palate of tomorrow
so that she can drink

and she hastened to stare
while decidedly wanting to know
What can come from a discarded stem
Does he dream of them?
Or her?
This quandary becomes her white elephant’s tusk
backed by a sky of grey
and I want to harness its ivory sorrow
for it pains me to think

it pains me so–