The garden of you,
smelling of honeysuckle
and lavender.

Your colors,
buttercup yellow, carnation pink,
the deep rose red of your mouth
that beckons me as a bee
seeking pollen, or a hummingbird
whose darting tongue unsheathes
saber-like from his long, curved beak,
but softer, entering you, then pulling back,
covered with nectar,
all the flavors of you.

I lie in the sunlight reflected
off your petals, O flower,
warmed by your heat,
colored by your color.

Craig Allen
© December 2009

12/20/2009

Posted on 11/12/2011
Copyright © 2024 Craig Allen