And, There We Are Like Betel Leaves Poem by Mark Heathcote

With eastern emerald splashes
and radiant half-batting lashes
she whispered, her innermost needs
like vines bent her ankles and knees.

And much like them, tasty betel leaves
she folded in and around me, tucked me
into her opium mouth, tucked me
inside a secret sacred part of—herself.

'Our eternity has no windows - she said:
whatever direction you take yourself,
be sure your heart has partaken and dined
and your soul is well fed'.

And placing an emerald leaf around my head
she embalmed me with a silken thread:
'our eternity has no windows - she said:
But we, too, are butterflies jointly cocooned - in a web.'