My flower was laden with dew,
So pink, so moist, and open;
Like lips that are parted in two,
Her center, her tongue, was golden.
And crossed by green blades of grass,
Formed in a triumphal arch;
Through which some great man could pass,
Or some great army march.
I'm a librarian living near NYC, have had several poems and stories, as well nonfiction published in various ezines. I've finally broken through in print as my novel "Where Do the Children Play?" a story based on true events concerning the kidnapping and drowning of a young boy, was published by Black Rose Writing last October. They are also publishing my second novel, "In Elysian Fields," a love story between a baseball player and a poet, due out July 4 of this year. View more posts
I love the juxtaposition of the innate sensuousness of the flower being threatened, consumed, or exploited by those around her. I can relate.
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Wow, how fitting you’re the first one who got it…and you’re also my first correspondence…i wrote that when i was 19
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I barely knew you then – what a shame.
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Yeah, who would have thought. I know its trite but life sure is funny.
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