in a place of redolent relaxation lives him, the lavender him. the him bathed in herbaceous patterns of bachelor, he, 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 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. fond of a neutral
temperament, he is kind. made of florets in filament.
it just recently occurred that his familial herbs have been infused within my veins since I was new and he was four and a half. suffused within our common memories, his oils had, essentially, chilled to the touch at my temples before I was old enough to be cognizant or to run.
brother, the external stresses that grow 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.