Beautiful blossoms blow amid gusts
With innocence found within childhood lust
Resurfaced in moments of involuntary trust

Sweetly intoxicating memories bring her
Shredded blossoms in delicate fingers
Dripping sticky; ambrosia scent lingers

Drinking deep of love's lost flavors
On dripping stems, sweet syrup savored
Her floral fantasies never wavered

Sweet nectar pulled from fragile flowers
Soaking life in warm spring showers
Heaven's scent in earthly powers

1 comment:

shevrae said...

It's a lovely poem, but as someone who has honeysuckle in their yard I tend to think of it as the demon vine that will not die. :)