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My Little Flower
“Here...”
I
tow you
in and draw
you even
closer.
The drift,
encouraged by
moldable hands that
later melt with the
strawberry mark
on your cream
colored
seat
“Flatten
your breasts,
face-to-face,
with my
chest.
And
consent to a wet
flutter on the nape
of your neck.”
I
then pour
a whisper into
the aqueduct
of your
ear.
The
cochlea clarifies,
to the gray matter,
without delay.
And
then the urge,
to reach underneath
and ensnare me,
is like glowing
lava flooding
the length
of your
arm
and
pooling up
in your titillated
hand.
You are my flower
Salmon-colored petals
all stippled with
off-white stars
The receptive
apex of your pestil
has requested my attendance.
Previously sending a scent.
The spit of a fascinating see-through
solution of “Lust Dust”
Your craving no longer waits
In tight and snug, I pollinate
And drill my seed to inseminate
This tenacious yearning to replicate
So
the next
time that it
rains
a
bundle of
money-colored candycanes
And
all your
lovers have gone
insane
My
little flower
will finally give birth
And sprinkle our seed into
the air and the dirt
And
even if my
departure is permanent
There’s no coming back to a scent that was sent
And
although your
neighbors have all become
flaccid and surrendered to an October
thirst that laid them over
well ahead of you...
My energy
will always stay,
to help you stand amid
a swirl of snowflakes
and the burnt leaves
from trees that
you sometimes
named
So don’t fret
anymore little flower.
I’d really hate to see you
so afraid.
Old Man Winter
will soon be sold to April
and the ground our
love-making
had once
digested
will
sprout
the lovable
likeness
of you
and me.
Copyright (98) JVMAYER
--John V. Mayer
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