I bend in the sun
(smooth green beans my conspirators;
prickly beet plant my shrink).
Cursing my life, 
I gingerly pluck the morning glories,
leaning against my pointy-toothed accomplice.
My murder ceases; they’ve done nothing wrong.
What a monster I am
taking my angst out on innocent roots
in this garden I have created.
(The rub.)
Your laughter surprises me
as you slide behind me
your body ahead of your mind,
(an impossible feat!)
your hands twisting and turning me
until the soft yielding earth becomes a blanket beneath me
and I in turn yield to you;
my body your cradle.
My face shaded by a voyeuristic tomato plant
-a curious onion poking in my ear
its echo of you makes me smile
with your fingers wrapped in my hair.
To my eyes full of questions-
your answer has always been
to find a new garden to plant…
and yet you return
the expectant, expected rake.