Sunday, February 1, 2015

The scent of flowers

Sunday, February 01, 2015

I part the pedals with my fingers
To feel what is inside
Flushed red and moist with dew
That I taste with the tip of my tongue,
This humming bird existence
Of near invisibility
Cloaked but not immune,
Caught up in the quicksand
Of my own desire,
In need of compassion
To ease me out
When I delve too deep,
Buzzing wings to keep me hovering
Until the moment I can again plunge in
I hear the moan of the pedals parting
And the groan when I ease out
My back heavy with sap from the middle.
They say honey tastes like the flower
From which it comes,
Yet none tastes so sweet as this
Or rich or thick,
Poured over me with nectar too heavy
For me to fly far
So I sink again, and again,
Sinking into the froth I am too drunk to drink,
Covered head to toe

With the scent of flowers.

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