you make me want to grow thyme in the windowsills.

this type of love poem is irrevocable--
the kind i didn't mean to write
but haunted me like the ghost roots
of the grass-- 
i daydream about you
like potted house plants-- the
orchids that grow into sycamores 
on my desk-- the bonsai trees
whose roots could be no longer
contained by the promise of
a ceramic tea cup-- break the legs
of the dining room
chairs while i sleep--
oh love i want to plant 
apple trees in the floor board
because of you-- let's break 
this place into an orchard--
i don't believe in walls anymore--
open windows--
open doorways-- this place
was meant for seeds--
carpet reclaimed by
soil-- oh let's go barefoot--
you know i don't believe
that shoes have souls but
i think that we do-- 
all we can do in plant them
in other people's feet--
behind their eyelids--
plant herbs in the windowsill
with me--
the basil plant is for my mother
& the african violets bruised above
the kitchen sink--
did you learn about planting 
yourself in other people from your mother--
or did you mimic the roots?
i did both--
pull my legs from the earth each 
morning as thick purple carrots--
you make me want to plant
thyme from every corner of
the house-- let the roots
reclaim the clock hands--
there's nothing you
can cook with the clock hands--
throw them out the window
or snap them into fertilizer 
for the herb bushes--
i want to grow rosemary with 
you-- kiss peppermint into
your cheeks--
wake like a handful of anise seeds--
let's kiss like the buds
of the orchid still
waiting on my desk--
stain our fingers in cinnamon--
the thyme grows into 
a cypress-- roots
tangle into fingers--
hold me here-- i grew
what was left of the hours
& the seconds &
planted thyme so that the moon
would hold still--
a dinner plate laid still
in my sky
garnish me with rosemary--
sit with my on
the windowsill-- 
chew the peppermint leaves--
we'll make the 
roots shiver--