MICHAEL DOM
An entry in The Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry
They say there is a rose garden that blooms inside us now and again.
I remember how your breath was so sweet I wanted to swallow it
Whole – gobbling up your gasping wind – to drown my screaming
Passion, ignited by your soft molasses coated tongue, with the scent of rose
Blossoming inside me, where my blood rushed your love home – yes!
Later I thought how strange it was, that it could last for so long, with me,
Still breathing after you had left – for three days – I was exhaling your fumes!
But, that memory was not distressing, no! Mildly hallucinogenic; it was swirling
There in my blood, like the alcohol that washes away your scent – sometimes –
Life is like searching a beer garden for a bottle of aphrodisiac potion you’ve lost.
What’s more troubling is that all the other flowers continue to bloom.
Well, Michael, it is interesting that you like roses. I too have a rose garden. The rains have come and it is blooming again.
The robbers have disappeared and I have my Crimson Glories to cut and place in my rooms. Oh, the perfume is divine. The shades of red are an artist's vision of paradise.
Sadly, my husband has lost his sense of smell and he has no great love for flowers. He would rather a "train engine" or a "light rail" to admire! Ha!
Posted by: Mrs Barbara Short | 31 March 2014 at 07:06 AM