Read my poetry and know me.
My resting bitch face
is only steep by Perception.
Listen to my phoenix-pen
And know me in
the sweet scent of warm Earth
on an ocean breeze,
or the feeling of driftwood
beneath your fingers.
Read my thoughts half-scribbled
between the pages and
enter me
for afternoon tea conversation
and the taste of petit fours.
Chestnut Cowboy 