...made to smell
The laughter of iodine,
Split the petals clothes.
To protesting sounds, that
You won't be shocked,
To hear a flower propose.
You bring your face more close, now,
Brush her body to your cheek.
Inhale the broken lipids, ubiquitous,
yet,
Here, unique.
"My God, man," she might tell you,
"Why must you sniff me so?"
"Do you think that I'm a person,
Wearing, the raiment of a Rose?"
"Oh, no, you're not a woman,"
You tell her, in your hand,
"A woman smells exactly like,
"The hunger of a man."
"So, which do you like better,"
Say's the flower, surpised
At such a tease,
"Do you sigh, here, against my body,
"At a womans memory?"
The pleasure of her thorns
In puncturing his skin;
As pleasing to the flower, then,
As it seemed to be to him...
"Your blood's my favorite color,
"My scent seems to give you pause,
"Tell me heavy breather, now,
"What your appetite applaudes."
He is angry at the notion,
That a flower and a man,
Might find such sweet admission
So far from next of kin.
So, he draws his blushing finger,
From the drawknife of her thorn;
Touches the tissue of her crimson
To his liquid warmth.
His nose is like a harbor,
And her scent comes on the waves;
Her time here a few days ardor
No more solid than the rain.
He can't remember yesterday,
Or the phases of the moon;
And breathes again the roses scent
In a silent fearful swoon.
"Are you thinking of tomorrow?"
She, with pleasure, asks the man.
"Do you know that I can't cling to time?
Anymore than understand..."
"The fear of silenced laughter,
"And the shame of cloaked desire;
"The circles of the heavens
"A sleep to soon retire?"
"I only know this meadow, man,
"And the fabric sheets of breeze.
"The softness of your bloodied hand
"The whimper of your need."
"I do not understand," he whispered
"I've walked here all my life."
"I kissed, there, my first girlfriend, hiding"
"From her mothers prying eyes."
"I've loved for just a day or two,
"Tolerated for a night.
"I've been begged by eyes, for a secret use
"That they sometimes just deny."
"But tonight I've met this autumn
"Of a season so damn full,
"Of the scent of delicious promise,
"And wit that fills my nose.
"My God, you're not a flower!"
His words began to fill his eyes,
His tears now mixing with the crimson
Stem and hand were stained by.
For the meadow had finally heard him...
Had tasted all his tears;
As he walked the moolit paths
Long brokered in his fears.
"I'm here within your grasp," she said
"And you have choices where you stand,
"We can love, now, one another.
"Or, we can try to understand."
"I know that reason brooks no river
"So wild as we have found;
"Where long tears swell the waters
"From where they once were bound."
"I have come, from where... I cannot know,
"But, now, I'm on your cheek,
"And if I have any choices, man
"That's where I'll plan to be."
The laughter of iodine,
Split the petals clothes.
To protesting sounds, that
You won't be shocked,
To hear a flower propose.
You bring your face more close, now,
Brush her body to your cheek.
Inhale the broken lipids, ubiquitous, yet
Here unique.
