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.