PenOnBeadedChain
Posts: 58
Joined: 8/5/2009
Status: offline
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Ode to a Bud in Bloom
You ask me for the reasons
I prefer my lady's rose
to the one that grows out in the yard
sashaying as the June wind blows.
The mind churns and sifts; tributes jostle,
trading turns in line for your perusal.
The Sweetheart's perfect pleasing pulchritude
is apt to tease the eye, it's true
But it has no hidden depths to plumb
with nose or tongue or thumb
or any other hardy implement of love.
Were I a butterfly, perhaps-- but I am not
And so that well-regarded rooted prize
falls short in nourishing appeal.
If my fingers were to touch the petalled folds
of the blushing bauble in the courtyard,
tell me: Would it coo or moan, or sigh, or
soak in one bare hint of my desire?
My lady's earthy bud, when grazed in tender toil
or kissed in reverent pilgrim's prayer
resonates in vibrant, mutual murmur
that is bantered 'tween blossom and feeder.
More, the garden rose - so free in demonstration
Shows off its fleshless fuschia feat
to birds and bees and bugs
and every bustling busybody
who happens to brush by.
My love's, though, lies ensconced in walls
Her hidden, hallowed corridor--
Library of longing for the privileged soul
who, drawn by dark forbidden intrigue,
would arrive in humble study.
(c) 2010 PenOnBeadedChain
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Ode to a Bud in Bloom - 
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