a jealously guarded garden
took bloom in my essential ephemeral,
and seeds sown under a strawberry moon
thrust their roots into the soil of my soul,
launching themselves for what they assumed was upwards.

Now I am not a sinful man by nature,
but the beauty of my progeny swelled my cerebellum with pride
and had my brain stem bawling for such joy that
the memory of my insanity bled from my skin like it was an
enjoyed-too-much waterbed.

->better believe they didn't come knocking when we shook the floorboards,
and of course I remember how the crescent moon hung her head in shame
when she couldn't throw enough light to catch a glimpse of our doings.

and even though digression was always my strong point,
and i'm the one with the steel-tipped tongue,
your soft words aways spoke louder than mine,
and it was your sweet murmurs nursed that garden to full bloom.
I might have strained to hear every word,
but the ones I caught blared like judgement-day clarions with
finger-cymbol echoes teasing my spine.
...and now your orchestra runs silent, and who am i to judge a coda from a finale.