Bouquets Are Not Tourniquets

by Philip F De Pinto


Bouquets are not tourniquets
To stem the dripping flood of sunrise
Nor is there salt in their container
Or torch to numb or cauterize

Comparable to your eyes
Were those bouquets
The more than a few I lugged
Up your unwinding staircase
With requisite crimson libation
And chocolates as will ply to make
Your acquaintance

If recollections of
Their long lashed and sunny race
Will not fade
Below a whisper
Who in the shade
Wont slip and slide on their pomade

In the thicket of
That glorious mace
Spraying race
Which think to flit
In every direction
Save my mug
As would discourage a pug ugly
To stare at their lightning bug
For which one had a flare
To have in one's ass
As would brighten and disturb the slumber
Of all the mass hysteria which haven there
Which could not toughen out
Their summer contentment


Thus with flaring sunflowers
He would youth compare
Try to ignore her
As much as could
A Spanish Explorer

Who would not take
This adage on for size
That one gets the lesser wise
As one grows younger

If Ponce de Leon was this adage made aware
Would he so hunger for youth's neon
Colored light
Which is no light
But youth recaptured
Is a blight

Sip a wee of postage dew
From that blue decanter love
And soon the boon and torch of truth
Of one Marquesa de Sade
Sprinkling her salt shaker
Over the wrong shoulder
The one toted no less than shrieking parrot

The sprinkling of which landed
In a monarch's gaze
As will faze his wings to trip on air
Swoon from his green canopy

And what on earth am I
But a butterfly
Rapt in love's fixative scent
A dealer in petals to strew
Along your psycho path
Soften your mad landing

And if perchance
I win this crooked hand
Will I lose yours?

And where in the woods
Will a dowsed on butterfly go
To win and gather such a hand as yours
To wrest
From all that is shady
In dealer of petals
In a crooked game of flowers

The bouquet of which
In rich recollections
I still lug up your unwinding staircase
With the requisite red chilled wine
And chocolates as will ply
To make and egg on
Your perfect acquaintance


Posted on 09/09/2014
Copyright © 2024 Philip F De Pinto

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 09/12/14 at 12:21 AM

And what on earth am I "But a butterfly Rapt in love's fixative scent A dealer in petals to strew Along your psycho path Soften your mad landing " My favorite stanza. I have read and re-read this poem, Philip, and each time something more settles in and gives me one more gem to savor.

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