in a place of redolent relaxation
lives him, the Lavender him. the him bathed in herbaceous patterns of bachelor,
you, the perpetual bachelor. thinking of thinking once it’s after. a Gentleness
growing around in layers and bouncing flowerbud prayers in between the lazyday
stitches of your laughter.
my brother was the first example of what it meant to be a man of the Violet type. a fragrant man who speaks easy. a neat and quiet type of modesty.
a
traveler who appreciates in biological bouquets of understatement.
and
he, who never felt the anxious hype to be sharp, to me, is mellow, still,
he
in his sustained state of Minty, is fond of that neutral temperament.
and he is kind. made of florets in filament.
it just recently occurred that these
Herbs have been infused within my veins since I was new and you were four and a
half. Suffused within our common
memories, your oils had, Essentially, chilled to the touch at my temples before
I was old enough to be cognizant or to run.
the
external stresses that press into other peoples’ worries have no
vibration
in your perennial rotation. you hum
a bluish-purple Medicine.
separate,
living in your own calendar, a chimeric atmosphere of
your
own pluck or gather. our family roots
in from the calming stems of
your sibling stoicism.
and I am Blessed to
have known you since our genesis. you,
kin, attract and smash the butterfly wings into a timeline of linear love.
