The Art Of Jeb

Ambrosia

The roses weight teased the bees leaving mornings regal, yet to sentimental not softly some say incandescent as the moons aim. Dulcet and balletic airs bygone alone upon the prairie Proust as sunless cliffs ‘‘twas midnight separates darkness as time passes day listen to this I love, the graceful ending.I stare at the color of my skin awkwardly.How beautiful is it to be violet of some somber rage.Do I have the multitude, creed, sexual orientation, religion and dignity of a woman?Can I wear my britches like a man?Tell me a punch from a kiss felt touching my cheek.My tears and smile desire the same joy.