HONEYSUCKLE POEM

The vapid deserts in my mind are fertilized:
golden, greedy,
branching avid tendrils out
to clutch the rose bush;
nurturing honey,
trollop for the bees' frenzy;
flowers
growing from the sockets of my eyes,
groping color, mad with fragrance.

We recognize each other, known unknown,
lover to lover.


© 2010 Charlotte Merrill Jensen