for Sheila Chandra

your chant is better than mine,
my ohm is better than yours

it is a leg thing of my girlfriend
who insists we limb wrestle
and tell you things
of her design
while she listens
and whispers naughty intent
that only I and her followers
may hear

how strong we both are
how dry she is not often
in the back of her own mind
she reaps the flowers you prune