Glass and lavender

in this land 
of maple trees, i am a

sugar cane harvested in summer 

stripped of roots and leaves, my tongue 
twisted   as   you   blow   pipe   my   ears 

give me your lips, open your thighs, 

come  to   me  like  a   thunderstorm 

pen drips of molasses, darkening spoon on white plate 

rippling the rock garden, raked into stillness by monks 

how   well   you  cleave  me,  my  wind   whisperer, 

i thought i was made of hollow bowl, seedless grey,  

but i am young again in mouth-blown Reidel glass 

   flowing ice wine, soft lavender on your palms,      

stem bent listening to the  

    

sea and sun 

Posted for Imaginary Garden of Real Toads and D'verse Poets Pub:   OpenLinkNight 


picture credit:  here