Flowers On Sunday On Monday, Goodnight

I wait all year for this time – when I can devour the peonies, heart and soul.
Indulge in their infinity of pink, as caressable as skin.

Yielding but self-assured,
like any living creature here to fulfill its destiny.

Encounter their improbable, unjustifiable beauty –
a pilgrimage of senses
to meet the force of that tenderness,
unfolding in myself.

Because there is no other way to find their blooms, to inspire their wordless fragrance – except by the light
of your own lovely petal shine.

Posted in Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s