Out of where the pots of gold are found
in hot and soggy ground
there under a ticklish spruce-fir tree
she opened up to me

Paralised exposed to the wonder
three diamond holes into her sleeves
to let her body breathe
eager to get my fingerprints on her
she looked as though they were

Words born to reach and break my glass
pleased my educated guess
age made a difference in the past
but she grew on me so fast