Last night she stumbles in full of the scent of cloves and with random clover flowers stuck in her hair and smeared all over with dew.

This really ought to be a letter to the garden girls, more than anything else.

Breathless and panting, give my my quickie-energy and my sudden cartwheel, my flash of light at the end of the wok, my sliding-under darkness and the sound of Kate Winslet's voice saying things like, "Her flaxen quim, the winking eye of God!"

Give me women in uniform.

Give me a church in calhoun.

Give me Ganseha, for removing of obstacles, and for safe journeys.

<<agé chose>>

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