Inward Bound

TRUSS issues started when that bridge collapsed,
MAGMA makes me feel no safer, nor do these heights,
LLAMA seems unafraid, so I pretend to lead it by
STRAP. Note to self: next time, do Inward Bound.

Last card

LIPID ain’t limpid, like your limpid eyes, my dear.
TULIP ain’t two lips, though you have two, it’s clear.
MUCUS ain’t music, though your words are music to my ears. But.
SPADEs is trumps, so it’s clear, hear this in your ears, I win again, my dear.

Organic

SPADE cuts ground like a scalpel through
MUCUS membranes and bone, cultivating the
TULIP rows in their multicolored tissue,
LIPID petals and protein stems, living beauty.

Spring or Chemistry

SPADE a foot rest, gaze lingers,
TULIPs spirited hues announce fresh life. For the gardener
LIPIDs, enzymes, and explanation give ground before senses flaring lovely to the mind.
MUCUS? Not cell product, rather first tickle of this year’s sneezes.