Plethora Of Flowers
The wind wiped mellifluously
The pollen in her vivid face
And the memory remained
In a garden of collectives
Where everything bloomed
And sank all the same, hastily
Blue as a dream, red in the evening
Bowing with the petals and their skirts
Resembling the machinism of the gears
Pushing each other and manipulating
Time's lullabies and elegies
Her statuesque silhouette stood
Crooning a limn for the breeze
That spades the buried garden
Trains will pass with faces
Pasted in the window pane
Chasing the carriage of their dreams
And running from the hearse darting
Against the winnowed sailing through
The vacuous grounds of oblivion, whilst
You scull inside my chest, rocking
Me to a perpetual sleep, and slowly
Becoming the motion that ferries me
To anywhere but here, in the ubiquity
Tangled in your sequins and niceties
From the garden, you are plucked
Tucked in the breast pockets
And your thorns riveted deeper
Than any paramour had ever gone
Swoon over me and find yourself aloft
Throned in the lips of my pits
And the enigma of your vibrant hues,
Your emollient redolence, and the spell
Caroming in the crowns of your petals
Would wake my sedative bliss with pain
And perhaps eternal ardor in ethereal places
For now, I shall wait and hum your song
Hiding in clandestine places and salient stones
Of graveyard sifting in mirth and luster
Amidst a plethora of flowers, plucked and not
Possessing and debauching passersby's hearts.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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