I hand you a bouquet of flowers red with flame

I hand you a bouquet of flowers red with flame
Yet unconsumed.
Pushing out their petals to be kissed by your lips,
Sending out their odour like a message.

Open up these blooms and look into their depths
Drink up their heady wine like blood,
Drawn from within my chest
Where this bouquet has roots.

Place each one into a vase
That receives them like a mouth that purses
Like a vessel that waits to be filled
With the sharp pain of thorns that cut through water.

I lie before you like a planter
Bone and breast and breath,
Waiting for the squeezed juice of roses
To drop from your pink tongue.

The hair on my naked chest rises like charmed snakes
In anticipation of the slender tip of clear liquid,
The red colour now absorbed and spreading
In your neck and face.

You are a burning bouquet of roses
That I unwrap and savour.
Your smile dissolves me like ice in a fire
Until I cannot find my borders.

We are the fluid flow of you and me and flowers in spring.

~ by reeven on April 27, 2009.