As I walk through the trees and pick the fruit that bares for I cultivate my garden, I realize there’s no on to stand attentive on her knees and wait patiently as I remove my outside clothes and set aside for her to take care of because I take care of her. Maybe I’m Bill Clinton sitting in that desk and under was—but that wouldn’t work. I don’t refuse you. I cherish you. Roll my marijuana. Bounce on me. I’ll love and nurture, love. Join me. Us. You’ll be celebrated, my praise will be the loudest.





