Zealot


even now i
and my gallant army raise
arms to the sky, the bends of
our elbows billowing with
heavy bouquets and kiss the wary
clouds with open eyelids our
farewell to peace
willingly.
they say a man who
raises a hand to a lady loses
his right to chivalry, i say
that you grow your garden to
defend its own and tender your lot
to heaven in a remarkably close-knit
three-in-the-morning friendship
kind of way, where i tell you my secrets
and you give me the answers i long to hear
like the pawning of a ouija board into the hands
of a bigot.